


Trepidation in the Nameless

by MabelOverture



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: A pretty long character study of Kirk and McCoy, Action/Adventure, And obviously Spock, Angst, Complete, Friendship, Hurt!Spock, Hurt/Comfort, Like sometimes a lot of angst, Literally exists to beat up on Spock, Really Triumvirate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-07-15 13:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 86,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7225096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MabelOverture/pseuds/MabelOverture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk and his crew race against a violent clock, caught in a mysterious alien's battle that progressively threatens the first officer's life. There is some explicit swearing and violence, swearing thanks to McCoy's tongue. Most characters exist throughout, but it's largely triumvirate. Caters much more towards TOS. Non-slash, but the emotional connection is vehemently palpable, so it wouldn't be hard to see it as pre-.<br/>***This is a revised, far more improved version of 'Trepidation'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Holocene of the Timeless

Being a starship captain was his first, best destiny.

Every morning brought a new horizon, though neither seemed to exist in the endless vacuum that was space. His ship was the newest in the fleet, and the absolute furthest from headquarters. He'd been awarded a highly coveted mission, a mission he'd been yearning for. Many starship captains clawed at the senior officers of Starfleet, pelting them with their personal achievements and ribbons of awards, desperately hungry for the significant five year mission that would catapult a single starship into the depths of the unknown.

Captain Kirk knew, however, that he did not want the mission if his resume alone would win it for him. Who could desire an unstable mission such as this if the fleet didn't even faith in your abilities based off merit and intuition alone? He would let his imagination piece together what uncharted space may hold for a curious mind like his, but alone, this is what he did to chase after the mission.

After all, he was content with his present situation. He had a sturdy ship, a remarkable crew - and they were still studying the mysteries of space, just not the unknown bits out there - thataways.

His calmness in the face of competition was the reason why he was so fantastically ecstatic as he, his crew, and his ship were unanimously chosen to venture down this historic path. They'd had such successful away missions to nearby planets, stars, and comets surrounding Federation territory; it was simply common sense on why Kirk and the Enterprise would be drafted for this. Captain Kirk stood strong on the head of the bridge, his heart racing in anticipation as he gave the order to his helmsman to take them out. The first day in the 1,825 day mission.

Three years later, he found himself in the same position on the same bridge, his mind infinitely vaster to the past years' experiences. Every challenge he found himself placed in, every challenge his ship seemed to face, they could overcome. Not even Starfleet themselves could predict the magnificence of what was laying beyond Federation lines.

He looked around the bridge, to the crewmen he soon came to know as friends. The lone non-human in the room, the first officer and science officer, was briefing a newly signed ensign on the regulations of bridge duty. His communications officer was filing the report of their latest find to send back to headquarters, something not to be received for half a month. The expanse of this galaxy alone marveled him, their solitary location mirroring his excitement. He smiled to himself and took a deep breath.

They had already made it past the halfway mark of this remarkable mission, the ship entirely in tact and his crew largely untouched. They'd made leaps in scientific discoveries, and bounds in the name of what the future could hold.

What could possibly go wrong?


	2. Undiscovered Territory

“Report, Chekov.”

The _swish_ of the turbo lift departing the bridge followed the captain’s orders. He held his shoulders square, confident — a pillar of stability in the face of uncertainty. 

“Still no sign, Keptin.”

“Dammit.”

Kirk fell into his captain’s chair, snatching up his PADD to review the available data. What he glanced his eyes over didn’t make any logical sense: in front of the entire bridge’s eyes, and on record due to the whirring data sensors of the Enterprise, a foreign space vessel sputtered in the far distance less than a solar hour ago, a subtle hovering in an otherwise still sector. 

It was skimming the horizon of the planet they were approaching, breaching the hazy mesosphere in an eerie spectacle. Perhaps the encounter wouldn’t have been so alarming if this planet wasn’t a planet which showed absolutely zero signs of life, mirroring the 746 million Earth miles of dead space that surrounded it. The nearest life besides themselves was on a blazing comet, pockets of organisms burrowed in the crevices. The ship had been sailing smoothly, relishing the simple tasks of research and data management of the lifeless stars, planets, and comets they passed.

This one, called D684, was supposed to be no different. It was dreary looking, it’s exterior coated in a thick debris of dust and it’s color resembling something like dried clay. 

Kirk had slowly uncrossed his legs as he registered the moving vessel, leaning forward and muttering, “Is that a…?”

Chekov’s alarms had answered him, their alarms blaring beneath the young Ensign’s fingers, affronted by the bizarre performance feeding through the visual records.

As Kirk always did when he doubted himself, he had looked over to his first officer for affirmation. Spock nodded his head; yes. This was real, and he had seen it too. When the captain had looked back to the view screen, it was suddenly gone. The alarms had silenced. 

Now, after a brief visit down to Engineering to convene with a Scottish man with a gift for guessing games, he found himself back in the chair in which he first spotted the strange receptacle. He pursed his lips in mild frustration, wishing his friend in Engineering had had some kind of hypothesis.

“Spock, where is the closest planet to this one?” He twisted his head back to look at the Vulcan leaning over a seotoscope. Spock, without taking his eyes off his data, answered without hesitation.

“The nearest planet containing intelligent life is 3.2 billion Earth miles from our location.”

“Thought so,” grumbled Kirk in reply. They were in the middle of an uncharacteristically uninhabited area of the galaxy, and it was highly unusual to see anyone besides themselves out in the middle of the void they charted. It was possible the satellites sent out preceding the Enterprise’s arrival were wrong on the assumption of dead space. They weren’t nearly as accurate as the Enterprise sensors, however, they were reliable in minimal information, including the _yes_ or _no_ question of inhabited space. 

So the question remained: who, or what, was on that spaceship? They were over halfway through their five year mission, and the furthest a federation vessel had ever travelled. Every inch of space they sliced past was an unknown. 

However, even unknowns were assumed to show certain aspects of consistency. The laws of physics are irrefutable throughout the universe, as it is how the universe came to be. It’s various species, planets, and unique conformations of life were to be developed differently, but they were all to be developed by the same physics of space that surrounded Earth, Anguria, the Andromeda — everything. Therefore, in an interesting thing to witness, many aspects of alien life shared similarities. Many things could be unexpected, but not entirely surprising.

What they just observed — an alien ship in the middle of nameless nothingness, appearing and immediately disappearing — was both unexpected and surprising. Alarming was also something of an accurate thing to be within the mix.

Kirk grumbled in his throat as he read the little amount of data on his screen. They’d hardly had enough to time to record anything more than the amount of time the ship was detected, it’s rough size, and how far it seemed to be from D684. He then felt the silent presence of his friend standing to the right of him. Kirk looked up to Spock, blinding hoping the Vulcan would have an answer. 

“Speculation, Spock? Anything?”

The Vulcan sighed, a rare but definitive sign that he too was stumped.

“I have none, Captain. Clearly, there was a ship roughly 229,000 Earth miles away from our own. Our eyes cannot have betrayed us, as I have data recorded by the sensors that it did indeed exist, if only for a moment.”

“Who could they be? Did you recognize the design at all?”

He shook his head. “It was too far to adequately observe…Mr.Chekov, please access those few seconds in which the ship is visible, put it on screen, and magnify.”

Chekov had been staring deeply at the screen, his mouth slightly open as he was lost in his thought of what he saw before him. He blinked a few times and sat back at the commander’s voice, punching his controls to do as requested. He attempted to access the records to do as he was told, but as he did so, his eyes bugged at the blinking of empty data banks. He hesitated as he processed the abrogating information.

“Uhhhhh….” he lifted his hands from the control board, his eyes glued to the confusing message, horrified, as if it were a wailing child he didn’t know how to quiet. 

“Is there a problem, Lieutenant?” inquired Spock, sensing the young man’s confusing.

“I…the computer, Meester Spock! Zere’s no signs of that ship, the entire data awailable during those few seconds…it’s completely gone, sir! Zere is nothing!”

With that bold statement hanging in the air, Kirk rose from his chair and Spock stepped forward to Chekov’s controls.

“That is impossible.” Spock said, mostly to himself, as he reached for the control board. He had just looked over the sensor charts moments ago, with his own extremely reliable eyes — they couldn’t simply disappear. A foreign ship disappearing was a thing in itself, but the eradication of recorded data on the USS Enterprise was entirely another.

Kirk looked between the data banks and Spock nervously, praying Chekov had made an innocent mistake and that Spock would fix it. He reached behind him, grabbed his own PADD, and checked the data screen he had recently abandoned. His breathing hitched as it read as completely empty, as had the control board in front of Chekov. Any hope remaining plummeted when he saw the minor shake of Spock’s head.

“He’s right, Captain…the recording, the data of that ship,” he turned to look at Kirk, '‘is gone.”


	3. The Unknowns

For the countless time, James Kirk found himself and his most trusted fellowship sitting in the Deck A conference room, their minds pooled together to make sense of the anomaly that had just occurred. Data recordings, automatically registered by the Enterprise and witnessed by several crew members, suddenly did not exist. It was as if it had never happened.

Kirk, at the head of the table, had his chin resting on his left palm. They’d gathered, ready to come up with a conclusion, but they’d been silent for the last several minutes in tandem perplexity.

“A storm.” Kirk hypothesized suddenly. “A magnetic, or cosmic storm on an inter-dimensional level that couldn’t be seen visibly.”

“Captain?” asked Scotty.

“Perhaps some sort of storm, a disruption in space-time, sent a magnetic wave towards the Enterprise and screwed with her, erased the data.”

“Unlikely,” came the bass of Spock’s voice, “ as a storm powerful enough to do so would incur much more damage than the meticulous erosion of such specific data. Far more than that single chart of data would be tampered.” He echoed what Kirk, admittedly, already knew. 

“Right, right. Not to mention the fact that we would’ve been having major alerts coming from the ship if a storm of any kind came upon us,” agreed Kirk with a hint of disappointment. He shook his head and sat back in his chair, vexed at the obscurity.

“And,” offered a galled McCoy, “that doesn’t explain the damn ship itself. If you’re telling me the entire bridge saw this chunk of metal out there, then there was a chunk of metal out there. No cosmic storm can conjure a ship out of thin air and smack it within the orbit of a dead planet.”

“Then where can we go from here, gentlemen?” the captain leaned forward on the table, laying his right arm on the wood with an animated hand face-up. “We’ve eliminated the conclusions that would have made sense, so now we venture into the conclusions that don’t.”

“I believe it’s safe to assume that the recordings were deliberately erased, Captain.” Spock said. “No other alternative seems possible.”

“Erased?” clarified Kirk. “By…?”

“By whomever was in that succinct ship.”

“Then _who_ was in that ship? Could they be so advanced that they could pass our sensors undetected? That they can fully cloak themselves at will, and can reach into another ship’s intricate data banks thousands of miles away and manipulate them as they wish?”

“Captain,” Scotty swiped his finger across his PADD, highlighting a section of information. “The last civilization we came in contact with had technological advances only a few Earth centuries behind our own.” He brought his eyes closer to the screen and squinted. “Granted, they’re a mighty ways away from here, but it’s just a bit bizarre to think that two planets in the same sector of the galaxy could be so incredibly varied!” He looked up and met his captain’s gaze.

“And, well,” he continued, “in situations somethin’ like this before, when we find ourselves in the company of advanced bein’s, we’ve always been able to get some kind of a read on their ship, even if it’s just the reading saying ‘we dunno know what this is’. Here, now…well I cannae say I’ve seen something like this before.”

Kirk nodded, accepting the Scotsman analysis. “Thank you, Scotty.” 

Scotty just pressed his lips together in a sympathetic smile.

“Erased, Spock…” Kirk adverted his attention back to his XO. “You’re implying they have mal intentions.”

“Not necessarily Captain, although that is something to be considered a possibility,” he answered. Kirk swallowed, keeping Spock’s gaze for a moment as they each briefly recognized what their ship may have come across. They’d come across beings with mal intent before, but it never became easier for Kirk to deal with. Being Captain, putting his crew in dangerous situations was the one thing he regarded with utmost animosity.

Yet time and time again, though he worried for them, Kirk could never doubt his crew nor their abilities. The ship worked as a unit, gliding through the cosmos of wonder and danger as if the ship itself was it’s own entity.

They all knew what they signed up for. After all, risk was their business.

“So we’ve had a supernatural experience,” summed up McCoy. The doctor had to stifle a chuckle at the extremely subtle eye roll Spock gave.

“Doctor —“ began the Vulcan.

“Do you have a better theory, Spock?”

“Using the word ‘supernatural’ implies you —“

“I’m just saying we don’t understand what happened.”

“No, Doctor McCoy, as stating such a thing implies that all scientific discoveries and anomalies began as a paranormal thesis.”

“Ugh, God. Listen Spock —“

“Girls, girls, you’re both pretty! Can we get back to more pressing matters?” Kirk intervened with glowing eyes. McCoy released a very deep and frustrated sigh.

“We have no possible explanation, Jim,” he crossed his arms and shrugged.

“Fine. We have no explanation. We have no logical conclusion, that happens sometimes. So now what we need to do is discuss out next course of action.” All eyes were on the Captain. “What do we do next?”

It was a very loaded question — one that sat in the air for a few moments before someone gave something to offer.

“We get the hell out of dodge,” McCoy said, unblinking. Scotty shifted uncomfortably in his seat, torn on the stance of his opinion.

“Why?” asked Kirk genuinely.

“Because there are…someone is out there, screwing with us, Jim. We know nothing about them, and they’ve fooled around with our ship. I’ll tell ya what happened; we saw them, they realized it, they disappeared, and they snatched any evidence we had of them to go with. If they can do all that jumbo, they sure as hell can do some damage to us as well. I don’t really want to stick around for that.”

“But wouldn’t that insinuate that they want nothing to do with us?” countered Spock. “Why else go to such lengths to confiscate our records? Captain, I believe we should complete our analysis of the planet, as we would have prior.”

“Dammit Spock, can’t you let your science go for once?” glared McCoy, the familiar hostility palpable between the two of them. “You’ll gave plenty of other opportunities in the future. But let’s make sure we _have_ a future, don’t ya think?”

“Doctor, consider dialing back your emotions and understand that we have a mission aboard this ship. We cannot flee simply because we fear what is unknown to us.”

McCoy waved his hand dismissively and averted his attention away from the Vulcan.

“We’re sitting ducks, Jim,” he said. “They could be watching us, waiting to see if they need to take action against us or not. The more time we waste, the worse off we’re gonna be.”

“They may have left, Bones.”

“Well we should follow suite.”

Silence surrounded them once more.

“Scotty?” asked Jim, noting how his engineer had kept his opinion quieted. The man shook his head, his eyes on the table. 

“It doesn’ make any right sense, Cap’n. Something feels off about this…” his brow was deep, furrowed, and worry etched the lines on his face. Scotty’s gut was telling him this situation was a bad one, and Kirk trusted Scotty’s gut as much as he trusted his own. The captain nodded. He looked back to Spock.

“Spock, how long until the science department has completed it’s scans?”

“Seeing as we obtained orbit 37 minutes ago, the scans should be complete. All that would remain is the release of terrain probes and a possible landing party.”

“Belay both of those. We’re continuing forward, effective immediately.” Kirk rose, followed by the rest of his team. These beings, whoever they may be, appeared to wish to be left alone. If they wanted no interference, Kirk would respect that.

If they did want interference, however…well, his ship wasn’t worth such a risk.

“Spock, I want a full detail of those scans by 1800 hours.” Kirk flipped out his communicator. “Kirk to Sulu. Continue on our navigations, bypass D684, warp factor 3.” He barely heard Sulu’s affirmation before turning to Scotty.

“Make sure the engines are in the pristine shape we want them to be. As far as we know, only those charts are the things manipulated but I want to be 110% sure.” He placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders and gave him an encouraging shake. 

“You go it, Cap’n.” Scotty topped his reply with half a smile and skirted out from the room. McCoy glanced between Kirk and Spock before turning on his feet to follow, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Kirk took a deep breath. His first officer had lingered behind. Kirk knew that, in some ways, Spock was right. They should gather as much information as possible about this eerie planet and it’s atmosphere, perhaps take a search for their mysterious counterparts. But there were too many unknowns and zero knowns. It was illogical to take unnecessary risks which placed men and women in harms way, and it wasn’t something Kirk considered an equitable trade for scientific recordings. He knew Spock understood this, but the simple idea of something so vastly fascinating must have excited the Vulcan. 

“Spock—“

“I understand and respect your decision, Jim. But you must understand this; our leaving this ambiguous being or beings leaves me in a state of…concern.”

Kirk peered at him, unused to the admission of emotion. 

“Concern, Spock? For leaving?

“Yes. For if we leave a possibly dangerous enemy with no knowledge of them as intelligent life, to completely evade their existence as if we had seen nothing, we are only condemning future explorers who cross paths with them. Perhaps explorers of our own federation.”

Spock said this without diversion from his usual repertoire, yet as he walked past his captain and exited the room, he left a chill that ran down Kirk’s spine.


	4. Breaking A Vulcan

Kirk took the few steps to reach the turbo lift doors. His first officer, who had just finished speaking with a passing lieutenant, joined him after Kirk waved him over. 

“I think we’d better move on to the next sector of space, leave this one completely. The next one registers more chances of life, anyway,” said Kirk honestly as the Vulcan took the wall beside him. Spock nodded.

“I would agree with that logic.”

“Sulu to Kirk.” 

The chirping of the communicator filled the small lift, it’s noise dense and damning. Kirk exchanged glances with Spock, knowing there was hardly a reason for the bridge to be trying to reach the captain unless it was urgent. The unsettling events of the last several hours had been tailing him with every step he took, and they sunk into the pit of his gut as he reached for the device. 

“Go ahead.”

There was silence, and after a few agonizing moments, the helmsman finally answered.

“Sir…” his voice sounded hesitant, apprehensive. Kirk narrowed his eyes, hearing how Sulu was having trouble finding the right words. “The warp drive…the entire control board, it’s…not working.”

Spock’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Kirk’s heart felt as though it had rammed into his ribs and stopped altogether. The words ‘ _the control board is not working’_ had never before been uttered. After taking a few conceding breaths, he stuffed down his rising panic. 

“Not working, Sulu?”

“We’re still in orbit, sir…I attempted to put the ship in warp factor three as you asked, but…nothing happened, sir! Not even an error, an alarm, a message…nothing! Everything is completely frozen up, Captain.” The astonishment in his voice was transparent to both Captain and First Officer. 

Kirk took a few steps backwards to lean against the wall, his mind eerily calm as acceptance rode throughout him. James Kirk was a highly intelligent man, and he knew this was no coincidence. His stomach churned as he registered that leaving would not be as simple he had wished it would be.

“Captain.” 

Kirk looked up from his stupor as Spock moved from his position by the wall to standing directly in front of him. Although calm, Kirk felt ribbons of fear tying around his mind. A few beads of perspiration collected on his forehead. The Vulcan before him seemed, as usual, unaffected as he regarded the captain with strong and pacific eyes.

“It’s them,” Jim said quietly. Spock nodded, his gaze communicating alongside his words.

“Yes.”

Without words, together, they prepared themselves to protect their ship from whatever may lay directly ahead of them. As a unit, the two of them had the potential to be invincible. As long as they could both hold strong, they could lead the Enterprise through a winding maze of razors and exit unscathed. The turbo lift’s doors opened, and Kirk made a move to exit, but Spock gently put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“I suspect they will contacting us, Jim, or making a kind of action against us. Please, remember that they have exhibited capabilities we before thought impossible. If the time comes, be wary when you speak with them; you are invaluable to this ship.” Kirk could heard Sulu’s voice from around the corner, the muted sound of alarms reaching the turbo lift alcove. He released a puff of air and gave Spock a small smile. 

“In other words, ‘be careful and don’t say anything stupid.’” Even through the oncoming fog of adrenaline that followed invariable situations like these, Kirk found himself smiling at the Vulcan. It was something that seemed to happen often. Spock lifted a single eyebrow, then nodded.

“That phrasing would be appropriate, yes.”

The two of them stepped out from the turbo lift and walked around the corner into the chaos that was the bridge.

“Deck 5 is having malfunctions with gravitational functions, Captain.”

“The engineering deck reports issues with the —“

“Sir, communications are down.”

Voices from the officers collided while alarms blared, the anxiety of every person in the room meshing together. Kirk tried to focus on what everyone was trying to communicate to him, but the constant _BWAA BWAA BWAA_ of the alarms were piercing his focus. 

“Alright, alright, alright, everybody return to your stations immediately and settle down. Someone turn those damned things off. Keep your heads on and listen to me.” He commanded with authority. The crew was losing their minds in the confusion and fear, but Kirk stood with a clear head and an even clearer agenda; get the ship _out of there._ Spock took a few large steps to the engineering panel and fiddled with the controls until the sirens silenced. As the volume of the bridge settled into silence at Kirk’s presence, he barely registered Doctor McCoy bursting through the door.

“What in blazes is going on, Jim?!” he spat.

“Give me a moment, Bones,” Kirk replied. He inhaled deeply, released his breath, and looked around the room. 

“Alright,” he began. “I think we’re all probably thinking the same thing, aren’t we? First the unmistakable spotting of that ship, then the disappearance of our records, and now it’s the loss of our controls. There is intelligent life outside of the Enterprise, and they know we are here. First and foremost, we need to be grounded. We’ve faced a lot together, all of you, me, and this ship. We can get through this one too, _together_. Understood?” He roamed his eyes over the bridge once more, meeting the faces of his most trusted crew — his colleagues, his friends. Despite whatever unknown lied ahead of them, Kirk knew that there was no other place he would rather be than on that starship bridge. 

“Follow my every word,” he stressed. 

“Uhura,” he turned to face her, “open all channel frequencies, even the industrial wavelengths. Maybe we can —“

And then a voice.

“Homosapiens.”

Kirk spun around in alarm, finding himself opposite a stranger. It was an alien species, completely unknown by the Federation. It’s body and limbs were almost humanoid, except it was exceptionally tall and startlingly thin. It’s color was the sort of black that smothered the vision, a blackness that seemed to swallow any light that came near it. Rough, uneven, malicious scales linked together to create flesh. The eyes were sunken and haunting, a thin rim of white orbiting otherwise black pupils, giving it’s gaze the same jarring appearance as the rest of it’s evocative presence. 

“Human beings…and…a Vulcan?” The voice crackled, unsuspecting of what it came to find. The words that came from it’s mouth were so deep, the vibrations shook the very air around them. Lieutenant Uhura suddenly felt as though it’s aura could match the devil’s.

It’s dark head looked to Spock. Spock was mystified, his body stilled in apprehension but his eyes wide with wonder, his mind racing with anticipation of the unknown. The adrenaline he felt during these times of duress was always unexpected and even more unwelcome. 

“I’m Captain James Kirk. Who are you?” avowed Kirk, wanting the get the attention away from his first officer. 

The alien’s image suddenly faulted, appearing and disappearing for a few seconds, resembling static on an old Earth television. It turned it’s head slowly to Kirk. _A hologram?_ Kirk felt that if he could recognize the falsity of this being, he was already one step ahead of it. He straightened his shoulders, ready to face the trouble it thought it would take upon his ship.

“James.” It’s voice crackled like molted lava. “You will help me.”

Kirk raised his eyebrows, as if to provoke it’s demanding statement. He nodded a few times and patted his chest, giving off a stance of ease. He would not bow to the fear this alien so clearly yearned for. 

“Sure,” he acknowledged. “Sure, I can try to help you. We’re explorers. We wish to push forward in science and unity, to reach out to all beings and bring the galaxy to a place of peace and prosperity. It’s my job and my want to help those who need it. What is it that you need help with?”

“Myself and those like me were left for dead on this planet. We wish to leave.”

“You want a ride?”

“No.” It’s voice dripped with disdain. The longer Kirk looked at the being, the colder his body felt, and the more unstable his image of courage became. 

“We are different, James,” it continued. “We can do thing that a species like yours could never understand. We understand things you aren’t even aware exist.”

The thickness of it’s assumed superiority blanketed over the Captain, and he felt his patience begin to ebb. He clenched his jaw together.

“Why do you need my help?” he repeated with emphasis, his eyes beginning to challenge the glare the alien gave him. It cracked with static.

“Our way of life is though a crystal,” it said. “A crystal indigenous to a specific moon to a specific planet in a specific star cluster, two _human_ solar days from here.” The disgust in the word ‘human’ settled into the air. “You came to us for a reason, James. You will retrieve those crystals.”

Kirk scoffed softly as he sized up the now obvious hologram. Perhaps it thought it was being sly, tricking the inferior humans with it’s holographic presence, but Kirk had recognized it almost immediately. He balled his hands into fists, knowing a hologram could do nothing more than fault like an overused electric board. His nose twitched with concealed anger at it’s games. 

“Are you asking or demanding?” 

“I am not asking,” it said with ice.

McCoy, standing at the rail behind Kirk, could practically hear his heart pounding against his chest and idly wondered if he was going to have a heart attack. He was a southern doctor with a gifted sense, and he sensed this would not end well. He tried to take in who was in the room, how many of them knew basic medicine, and what he would do if it all went to hell. He prayed to any God that would listen that Kirk could talk them out of this.

“You say you have a higher awareness of the universe,” ventured Kirk, “yet you treat me and my crew like some kind of primeval slave. Seems like a mind with limited intelligence, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Are you telling me you’re refusing?”

“I’ll tell you this. There’s this old Earth saying, been around for centuries. And it’s, ‘we don’t negotiate with terrorists’. I think that speaks for itself.” Kirk was numb with endorphins. He knew he was conversing with an image of what was real on the planet’s surface, but he was still playing Russian roulette with a monster. He could hear his breathing in it’s sudden silence. 

Spock’s eyes were glued to the alien, his curiosity rampaging alongside his awareness of the situation. But then, he looked in Kirk’s direction, admiring his captaincy. It was the thing Spock imagined Kirk could never vary from; the necessities to be a phenomenal starship captain were sewn into the very fabric that created James Kirk. The words that came from him somehow convinced Spock that whatever may follow, this man would bring the Enterprise past the border of safety. 

Then, suddenly, a prickling wave of ice ran from Spock’s head to his heels, and the breath that was once in his lungs was lost. He heard the _pop_ of the control panels near his feet burst from their once secure positions, and the intricate wiring that was contained within them snaked out and wrapped around Spock’s legs, tethering around like rope. The monster had it’s hand outreached, it’s arm perpendicular to Spock’s standing position, and the dead space between it and he became a platform for electrical matter fabricating from it’s fingertips. The lightning that withdrew from the long, black fingers hissed and crackled and popped, rapidly moving towards Spock’s fixed position within seconds, turning from white to black to an electric blue. The lights throughout the bridge flickered violently, the room going dark until flashes of a jarring bluish hue illuminated the depthless black creature and Spock as the fiery bolts found the wires now around Spock’s waist. He cried out in surprise and pain at the contact, the jolting touch unlike any pain he’d before experienced. The redefined matter of fire and bolts wound deeper into the wires, wrapping around his torso, his arms pinned to his side. The pressure from the restraints tightened, the wires sending pulses of agony into his skin. He bit his tongue and clenched his eyes shut, determined to keep from shouting, to refrain from letting the alien know it was succeeding in it’s assault. 

It had happened in just moments. Kirk felt his heart stop, his body freeze. It began as the sighting of a ghost of a spaceship, and it had escalated to a merciless extraterrestrial having his greatest friend imprisoned in a death trap. 

The pain was piercing. Wires from the panels in the ceiling knocked through and swept down to solidify the hold on his forearms as he was half lifted into a weightless levitation. Waves of pain washed over him, drowning out the sounds of his lungs trying to breath.

“Stop, stop!” cried Kirk. “You’ll kill him!” 

“He is a Vulcan, isn’t he, James?” it crackled with baritone. “His body can hold up to this. Know that this is hardly what I can do to him, or to you and your entire ship.”

With horror, Kirk watched a wire snake out from the tangle and slither up Spock’s throat. The charged matter emanating from the alien’s hands flowed from it’s fingertips to the endeavoring wire, strengthening it as it wrapped around the Vulcan’s jaw and mouth. Refusing to accept his fate, Spock fought, his body writhing against his restraints, but the torture magnified and his vision went black. Spock found himself crying out in torment, but his shouts were muffled by the smothering cables. The sound cut through Kirk’s heart.

“What do you want?!” he yelled, his entire body coursed with terror and fury. Any doubts he had about this alien’s abilities vanished, and his one desire, his only need, was to see it release Spock from whatever hell it was feeding into his body. He drowned in his helplessness. 

It lifted his hand higher, the digits of it’s hand twisting grotesquely, matching the rancor it’s entire existence emitted. It clenched it’s fingers together in an enraged fist.

“I want those crystals,” it sneered with impassioned malice, it’s words sinking into the cosmos. Whatever power the alien possessed increased, and blue spots began to form in the Vulcan’s darkened eye sight. With rising dread, McCoy saw the fight in the Vulcan begin to fade, his once determined thrashing becoming a desperate attempt to fend off the incoming blackness.

“Alright! Alright, I’ll get your damned stones, get off him! Let him go!” 

With a lasting moment, the revolutionized matter burst and the wires released Spock’s body. He dropped like an anvil, his body hitting the ground. Several bridge officers cried out his name, but their voices were drowned by the alien’s. The lights flashed a few times before flickering back to their capacity.

“I have programmed your navigations,” the voice growled. “Your task is _simple,_ James Kirk. Retrieve the crystals, bring them back to me. Go directly to where you are told to go, do not explore the moon, do not explore the star cluster, _do not disobey what I am telling you to do._ Do this, and you will be free to leave with your lives.”

The second Spock was down, McCoy had hopped over the rails and ran to his side, completely impervious to the alien that was still at the head of the bridge. He kneeled next to him, the Vulcan laying completely limp on his side, and wrapped two fingers around his wrist. As he counted the erratic heart beat, he watched the monster point savagely to the unconscious Spock. He couldn’t stop himself as he glared at it with infuriated eyes, angry that it regarded him with it’s obscene hands.

“And remember, James, the second you deviate from your course, your half breed friend with be dead.” It spat the word ‘dead’ with such venom, Kirk forgot the breath. 

“I suggest you don’t take your time on this, Captain. And should you choose to test my power, if you choose to be responsible for his death and continue escaping after he’s perished, the same thing with happen to the whole of your ship. Never fool yourself into thinking you can liberate yourselves from this just because I remain on this planet. You will go, you will come back.”

McCoy’s stomach was in his throat with fury. When he first saw the flash of wire erupting, and Spock’s body fell through the air, he was convinced the first officer was dead. It was discontented relief that he felt at the feeble pulse. His skin was so incredibly pale, a shade of grey settling over his body, that the doctor hardly recognized him.

“Deal.” Kirk swallowed, his hands shaking in fists at his side. 

The figure straightened it’s harrowing back, and it bent it’s head down in a glare, it’s eyes bearing into Kirk’s to remind him of his new duty. The hologram filtered out until the space was as empty as it was minutes before.

He waited for a few moments, ensuring the threat was truly gone, and Kirk leapt across to Spock and McCoy. Chekov stayed at his station, but he’d stood and was looking over in deep concern. Uhura had her mouth covered, praying the Vulcan she so respected wasn’t as dead as he seemed.

“Bones…” started Kirk.

“He’s alive,” his statement was met with a collective sigh of relief, “but he’s weak. Really weak. I’ve never seen a Vulcan like this before. “

“What do I do?” whispered Kirk, his hand resting on Spock’s shoulder, wondering what had happened to the stability he felt not so long ago. McCoy shook his head.

“I don’t know, Jim.” He said honestly. “I don’t know what the hell we’ve gotten ourselves into. But I know that Spock seems like he’s on the brink of crossing over, and I need to get him to Medical right now.”

McCoy wrapped a Vulcan arm around his shoulder, and in answer, Kirk did the same. They carefully lifted him until he hung between the two of them, so completely still that Kirk had to fight the image of him being buried. 

“The controls, Sulu?” He looked over his shoulder to the helmsman. Sulu blinked and looked down, the controls lighting up with revamped power. After informing his captain of the update, he placed his hands on the lever, knowing the words that were about to come.

“Warp factor 6, Sulu, to…wherever the computer tells us to go.” As he and McCoy walked towards the lift, Uhura softly informed him that all communications were functional. She watched the three of them turn the corner; the somewhat shaking figure of her drained captain, the red faced and heavy breathing figure of the doctor, and the unmoving, almost dead body of Commander Spock. 

The swish of the turbo lift was the only sound in the silenced bridge.


	5. Biobed 4C

Nurse Chapel bustled around the sickbay, humming a tune she rather liked but couldn’t place. It may have been the song Doctor McCoy had been singing to himself a week or so ago, on a particularly pleasant day. She found herself to enjoy those days, the easy ones. The ones in which even McCoy himself couldn’t find something to grumble about. 

This day was not one of those days.

It began as an average start, until everything in Medical went haywire. The biobeds malfunctioned, the life support systems crashed, the computer banks froze completely — and the veins in Doctor McCoy’s neck popped out in fiery annoyance. After a failed attempt at hailing the Captain via communicator, he had skirted out of the room hardly more than 20 minutes ago.

Now, as everything had come back online, Chapel had been expecting his return any moment. Surely whatever technical glitch occurred must be solved, right? His visit with the Captain must have been successful. She checked the systems once more and turned to rearrange a few hypos. She heard footsteps down the corridor — Leonard would probably dive straight into a rant on how he had to chew Kirk’s ear off to fix the problem.

It was true that she did expect to hear his voice…but not in this way. 

“CHAPEL! Get biobed 4C ready for Spock, quickly!” 

She spun around from the cabinets, her mind instantly alert, to a sight she’d never wished to see. Spock, half a Vulcan, hauntingly pale and hardly alive, slung loose between her captain and chief medical officer. Her breath hitched at the sight. 

Christine Chapel had stubbornly resilient feelings towards the Vulcan. She had since the first day of their five year mission. They weren’t something she wished to act upon, nor pursue…however, they did exist. It was something she couldn’t admit to a single soul, particularly not the doctor she worked beside daily. However, her secrecy could not tame the horror she felt at the sight of him. She abhorred the idea of seeing anyone in a state like this, but, as a nurse, she could detach her humanity from the situation so she could focus on her work. However, this was Spock, and she found she could not control her impeding concern.

She darted for the biobed. A half Vulcan and half human was a rather rare being, and the specifications regarding organ placement, average heart beats, temperature, and anything else could be a lengthy process to input into the advanced biobeds. The first month of their long journey, after Spock had broken his collarbone on an away mission and the customization had taken far too long, Chapel programmed a preset specifically for him on a biobed tucked  in a private room. It was the bed he was always assigned to, check-ups or otherwise. She swiftly activated the preset, the biobed whirring alive, and she ran to throw open the drawer of McCoy’s supplies. She tried not to notice how Spock’s feet dragged behind him as the two men carried him into the room.

“What happened?” She couldn’t mask the bewilderment in her voice, her eyes wide as they lifted him.

“He was…look, I’m not sure yet,” grunted McCoy. “Give him a shot of hydrocortisone until I can get a read on his vitals.” His voice cracked with strain, laying Spock’s cold head down.

“Hydrocortisone…?” she mumbled in confusion. The Vulcan looked like he needed a lot more than hydrocortisone.

“NOW, Christine!” he shouted back. She jumped and ran for the cupboards.

McCoy yanked his medical reader from the side table, waving it over Spock’s body. He glanced up at the monitor screen. The results were confusing, inconsistent — he furrowed his brow as his anger and frustration peeked out from his medical facade. 

“What is it Bones?” Kirk asked hurriedly, uneasy about the expression his friend was giving. “Is he alright?”

“Go back to the bridge, Jim. We’ve got Spock,” replied McCoy, his eyes not leaving the screen. Chapel sprinted back over and applied the hypo. 

“Go back to the…? McCoy, my first officer—!”

“Something pretty fucked up just happened up there, Jim! And this ship needs you! We’re sailing God knows where, Spock was just put on display for crucification, and your crew has absolutely no idea what’s happening! He’s _alive._ Our new friend apparently wants him alive in case he needs to kill him later.” Chapel grew paler with every sentence. Snatching another hypo from her hands, McCoy took a deep breath, his shoulders sinking ever so slightly. “And we are lightmonths away from the nearest Federation post. Get back up there, Jim,” he finished, his voice softer. 

Kirk swallowed hard and looked at Spock. He felt sick, his insides rippling like a boulder thrown into a lake. An image of his friend’s muffled scream flashed in his mind. He blinked it away, taking a few steps back in acknowledgment.

“You’re right.” His voice didn’t sound like his own. “Please, let me know if…something happens. I’ll be on the bridge.”

With a lasting look to Spock, now the shell of a Vulcan he’d known for almost eight years, he left.

After more tests and observations, McCoy concluded that he had no idea what had happened to Spock. His vitals fluctuated throughout the night, but more in an inconsistent manner than a concerning one. There was no lasting damage, nothing that McCoy himself needed to attend to, but his body was in shock and was highly weakened. A few places on his body had inflamed skin. It was particularly noticeable just below his neck, near his collarbone — likely from the friction of the wired restraints. He shook his head to himself and looked up to the ceiling as he thought back to it. _Never seen a goddamn thing like that in my life. Popped those wires right out from the ship. Christ._  

Halfway through the night, the entire sickbay empty but for he and the unconscious one on the bed beside him, McCoy decided it would have been the unadulterated pain that would have killed Spock. 

With nothing to do, his tired mind wandered. His annoyance peaked. He glanced at the clock — 0100 hours. It was getting late into the night. He scoffed in the silence. _Can I even call this shit ‘night’ anymore? Why do we do that? There’s no sun out here in this God forsaken vacuum._

He sighed loudly in exasperation, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair. After noticing the pigmentation of Spock’s skin hardly improved, he decided he felt very uncomfortable leaving him unobserved. He could have had an on-call nurse do so, so he could retreat to his quarters, but he wasn’t so comfortable with that either. Besides, his blood was too boiled with anger to sleep.

Seeing Spock held captive by unknown forces and shown Hell firsthand was, in fact, the worst thing McCoy ever witnessed. The hopelessness in him as he could do nothing but stand and watch was suffocating. His entire body and mind was numb in the flaring lights and crackling of electricity. He watched the life drain from the Vulcan’s brown eyes. He watched the fight in him weaken. Disappear. Rage filled him when his body hit the ground.

He rubbed his tired eyes with one hand. He needed to stop thinking about it. He put his hand back in his lap and looked at Spock in the low light. The movement of his chest, breathing steadily, was relieving. Hours ago, it was erratic and uneven. Now it had calmed into a slow rise and fall. 

As a doctor, the entire ordeal was frustrating beyond the obvious fact that Spock was almost killed. Frustrating, a word not quite fulfilling the emotion of it, because there was nothing McCoy could do to help Spock recover. Only sit and wait for him to wake.


	6. Brewing Minds and Coffee

On the bridge, Kirk sat anxiously in his chair. His leg bounced methodically up and down, up and down, up and down.

The situation was dire, to say the least. They were headed for a star cluster well off course from their ordinal orders, venturing into a sector of space completely uncharted and unknown, and they were down a first officer.

Everyone was shaken from what happened. Spock’s stubbornness, intellect, and subtle sarcasm caused him to be something of a favorite on the bridge, and his near murder caused the crew’s skin to grow cold. The haunting memory of the alien’s scorching eyes, it’s lightless presence — it was something not to be forgotten for a long time to come.

Years ago, Uhura had cleverly devised a resting chart in the event that the bridge needed to be fully manned at all hours. It had been used several times, and it was getting it’s use now. Chekov and Uhura were in the middle of their four hour sleep rotations. Kirk and Sulu were up next when they returned, but Kirk knew there was no way he could leave his post now. Normally, when this rest rotation was exercised, one of the top two officers would sleep (or rest) while the other held the Captain’s chair. As one of them was decommissioned, Kirk knew he couldn’t leave his post. His ship needed him awake and in that chair. That, and he really would not be able to sleep until he himself saw Spock alive.

“Sulu.” Kirk’s voice was gravelly, but strong. “I’ll need a full report of the ship’s events. Get Scotty’s account on the malfunction of the engines and the control boards. When she gets back, Uhura will map out the timeline of events, and I’ll get McCoy’s statement on Spock.” Though they were in the midst of something completely foreign to the Federation, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t send a detailed report back home. If something were to happen to them, to the ship and her memories, Kirk wanted to be sure that their home knew what was out here. Spock was right, hours ago. They couldn’t condemn future explorers to the petrifying discovery they’d made. 

“Yes, sir,” affirmed Sulu. He rotated in his seat to face the captain. He looked tired. Kirk was quietly grateful that the helmsman was up next to rest, the dedication of his crew constantly bringing light to the darkness.

Kirk rose from his chair, a small desire brewing, and made for the exit.

“I need coffee,” he said wearily. “Anyone else, while I’m there?” Most shook their heads, but Sulu lifted the corner of his mouth in a small smile.

“I’ll take you up on that, Captain,” he said. “Black, like the soul of the universe.” There was a hint of melancholy behind his humor.

Kirk gave a small, earnest chuckle. 

“I’ll get that for you, if you cut the drama,” he smiled back.

“You got it, Boss.”

Kirk stepped into the turbo lift, ready to tell the computer where to take him. But as the door closed, so did his mouth. He recalled being there a lifetime ago with his first officer, and what his first officer had said just before they encountered that shadowed alien.

“‘Be careful,’” he recalled quietly to himself, his voice a disdained mumble. He let a puff of air out through his nose and allowed his heart to take over his head for a moment. As captain, he was constantly on display; he was the face of the Enterprise. Here, though, in this turbo lift with the doors closed, he was alone. He leaned against the wall, closed his eyes. He breathed, slowly, steadily. The silence was gratifying. He didn’t want to break down, he didn’t want to shed any tears, he didn’t want to lose control of himself. He only wanted to lean against that wall and breath, just for a moment. So, he did, until he felt ready to open his eyes and get Sulu his well deserved coffee.

………………………………………………………………………………………………..

McCoy closed the book he had tried reading, haphazardly tossing it aside with a frown upon his face. He was exhausted, but his mind was reeling. He was worried for Spock, but he was also worried for the ship. Did Jim have a plan? He doesn’t really intend on getting those crystals, right? To let those monstrous beings free from their dried up planet, to be responsible for any death and destruction they will cause? He sighed and put his head in his hands, wondering how they were going to get out of this one. 

A small, quiet rustle caused him to jerk his head up. Spock’s head turned slightly to the side, an almost inaudible groan escaping his throat. 

“Spock!” McCoy practically tripped standing up from his chair. “Spock.”

He put a hand on his shoulder and looked him over. He was still rather pale, but the ghastly tone of his skin had retreated. He glanced up — his vitals had stabilized. 

“Can you hear me, Spock?” he asked.

The Vulcan’s eyes blinked slowly open. He inhaled slowly, deeply, as he came to register his position. He was awake, but he didn’t seem fully lucid. There was a hazy over his focus. To McCoy’s surprise, he began to push himself to his elbows, attempting to sit up, until the doctor quickly reached out and easily pushed him back down. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, though he knew Spock probably wouldn’t answer. “Everything is fine, the ship and the captain, all fine. You should probably rest more.”

He had assumed a subconscious part of Spock needed to see the ship and her crew alive, in one piece, before subjecting to sleep. Perhaps he was right, for Spock loosened his muscles and sunk back into the bed. There was no fight as his eyes closed again. 

McCoy stared at him for a few moments, wondering if the monitor reflected his condition. He plopped himself back into his seat, the relief at seeing him awake chasing away any other thoughts about his future. He seemed alright…

He jumped at the sudden appearance of his nurse to the left of him.

“Christ! Chapel, what are you doing here?” He twisted around in his chair, eyeing her skeptically as if she were a ghost in a graveyard.

“It’s 0800, Doctor,” she said uneasily, looking at him with slight concern. 

“It is…?” He blinked a few times and looked down to his feet, as if they somehow held the answer to the erosion of time.

“Perhaps I should take over, Leonard. Go sleep.” Although she rarely admitted it to the man himself, she greatly admired the chief medical officer. He was a true man with a big heart, something somewhat uncommon out in the wide unknown. She knew he was tired. She could see the fatigue written in the lines on his face, in the way that he breathed slightly shallowed breaths. When McCoy had a patient with a rocky condition, no matter their relation to him nor their species, he’d made a habit of standing guard to ensure they’d recover. 

“He just woke up for a few seconds…I probably shouldn’t leave him yet,” he decided. Sleep sounded highly enticing, but images of Spock falling limp to the floor kept his eyes wide open.

She smiled and shook her head to herself. She had her own attachments to the first officer, but that was because she rather liked him. But in spite of what McCoy (constantly) says, he too was fond of the Vulcan. She skirted a chair opposite the southern man, and he looked at her with heavy bags under his eyes.

“What happened, Leonard?” she asked gently. He sighed and scratched the back of his neck.

“You got the captain’s shipwide report. We were invaded by something akin to the Devil himself, and now we have no choice but to regard it’s every word like holy gospel,” he answered, his words filled with contempt. 

“The captain’s report didn’t specify what happened to Spock.”

“I already told you, I don’t know what really happened to Spock,” he said in weary agitation. “That… _thing,_ it was killing him. It wasn’t even touching him, but it’s ugly hand was up and it was killing him. I don’t know, Christine.” His heart pounded painfully in his chest. He knew the anger he felt towards the situation would linger for a long time to come.

“Why?” she prodded. “Why specifically Spock?”

“I don’t know, dammit! I don’t have any of these answers! Maybe it picked him just because he different. Maybe it had somethin’ against Vulcans, but hell, we’re so far from anything civilized, I don’t know that that race ever came in contact with a Vulcan before, or humans for that matter!” 

He growled loudly and rubbed his eyes with his index finger and thumb, everything within him catching up to his mind. The anger in his voice was noticeably present, but Chapel knew where it was directed. She cocked her head, her eyes sad, as she looked at McCoy in front of her. He still had his head in his hand, his hair unkempt like the emotions raging inside him.

“The captain said it was a hologram,” she offered. She couldn’t leave him, despite what his body language was conveying. The man was a man of heart, and he needed to expel whatever was raging in his mind.

“Definitely,” confirmed McCoy. He brought his head back up, his eyes somehow more tired than they were before. “It even shorted a few times.” He laughed.

“Isn’t that ridiculous, Christine? Christ. A hologram, for the love of God, telekinetically half killed Spock, and now we’re taking orders from it. I mean, what the hell? What…in the hell? What are we doing out here? There’s just so, so much we don’t understand yet.” He massaged his temples, his back hunching, his posture not worth up-keeping. “Maybe humanity isn’t ready for this.”

He sounded defeated, lost. Her heart sunk at his intonations and words, wishing she could remind him of the greatness he’s accomplished in the vastness of space he so greatly despised. She put a hand on his knee.

“Go sleep, Leonard. I’ve got this. I’ll call you when he’s awake.” He nodded silently, and lifted himself from his chair. She rose with him, and watched him walk past the doors and into the corridor. She almost thought he himself might keel over. In the corner of her eye, she caught a small shape laying on the floor near the chairs. It was McCoy’s discarded book, the one he’d been trying to finish for the past month. ‘Brave New World’, but Aldous Huxley. She shook her head at the irony, and placed it back on the shelf.

McCoy felt empty as he walked down the corridor, his body only a vessel for the horrors of what life puts on his back. His mind was groggy with fatigue. He passed a few crew members on his way to his quarters. His eyes roamed over their faces, subconsciously noting how they all seemed a bit more on over drive. 

“Bones!” yelled a familiar voice. McCoy turned on his feet to see Kirk walking towards him, two cups of coffee filling his palms. Normally McCoy would have walked towards him too, meet in the middle, but frankly, unless Kirk had a heart attack at that very moment, he had no desire to move his body.

“Bones…how uh…how is he?”

“He woke up for a few seconds this morning. I think he’s gonna be alright.” Kirk noticeably relaxed, the muscles in his face loosening in relief. They were silent for a few moments, each lost in the sleep they didn’t get. 

“You alright?” asked Kirk. 

“Tired, like the rest of us.” He shrugged. “Chapel’s taking over.” Kirk nodded, realizing how McCoy had seen the entire night just as he had himself.

“All that coffee, Jim? Is that a good idea for your heart at a time like this?” teased McCoy tiredly, nodding to the two cups of joe.

“I think I can justify myself a cup of coffee, doc,” poked Kirk. “One of ‘em is for Sulu.”

“Make sure you sleep sometime today, Jim.”

“I will.” The doctor gave him a look. “No, really, Bones, I will. You do the same. I’m no good to the ship dead on my feet.”

“Right.” McCoy looked his captain over, his ponderings of the night encapsulating his mind. “Is there a plan, Jim?” he asked bluntly.

Kirk straightened his back, somewhat surprised, but not needing McCoy to clarify. He began to shake his head.

“I don’t know,” he admitted after a few moments. He’d been reviewing what happened in his head, thinking about the words the alien said, thinking about any options they might possibly have to evade this heist they’ve been thrusted into. Sitting in that chair, watching his crew take their rests every four hours, the black screen in front of them sprinkled with lights of stars and faraway places, he continuously found himself empty of an escape. McCoy sighed, a small, characteristically kind smile playing on his lips.

“You’re only one person, Jim. No one expects you to get us out of this.” Kirk looked up at him, his eyes dismal. 

“We’ve got a few days, right?” he continued. “We can try and come up with something together.” As much as McCoy wished Kirk could snap his fingers and fix the impossibilities of the galaxy, he also knew that was impossible. 

“Just tell me we’re not gonna do what this cretin tells us to do, and then leave and carry on our way like nothing happened.”

Kirk’s eyes turned from dismal to fiery iron, reminded of the entitlement of that alien, of what it thought it could force him to do. 

“I don’t know what we’re gonna do yet, Bones…but we’re gonna do something,” he said defiantly. “One way or another, this isn’t going to go down like it wants it to.”

McCoy nodded with a growing smile. Hearing the captain part of Kirk come out was always gratifying, particularly after he seemed to lose his hope. He grasped Kirk’s shoulder and gave him an encouraging shake.

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

Releasing, he turned and continued towards his quarters, vehemently excited for his bed.


	7. Sentiments of the Civilized Senile

His stomach churned with hunger, and he almost felt nauseous. Sulu groaned and scratched his head, but the minor movement gave him a small rush of vertigo. 

“Alright,” he sighed in exasperation to Chekhov, leaning over the control boards dramatically to try and earn the Russian’s smile, “ I need to get something to eat.” He succeeded in fishing out a concealed laugh from the young man. Chekhov nodded. 

“Do you want anything? A whiskey, perhaps?” he joked.

“If I vas drinking viskey, it vould be ven I am exercising and need to hydrate,” he said matter-of-factly, the dryness in humor challenging the Badwater Basin. It was Sulu’s turn to smile, and he nodded as he began to walk away, but then he turned back on his heel.

“Oh, do me a favor and keep an eye on those navigations? We’re set to just stay at a 20 degree angle from the face of ULAS J0015, warp factor 6, bearing 3.2.” As the creature, who had sucked the very warmth from Sulu’s breath in it’s presence, promised, the computer had their destination programmed into the ship. It was Sulu’s job to get them there. 

Chekhov twisted his head back and smiled at Sulu, then nodded. Sulu smiled back, genuinely, as he walked back to the lift. He rather liked Chekov, a lot actually. He was a sweet kid, and astonishingly smart. Sometimes, he had a lot to say. Other times he didn’t have anything to say at all. Sulu appreciated that.

A small frown crept onto his face as he entered the turbo lift, the thought of Chekhov never reaching his potential breaching his mind. If something were to happen to him, something that would prevent his inevitable success…something like the attack of an alien species capable of killing with a stroke of it’s hand. He shook his head, pushing the thoughts away before his imagination could get out of control. 

No matter what happened, in this reality or another, Pavel Chekhov would live forever. 

It was a silly thought, because of course someone couldn’t live forever. But he smiled to himself, alone in that turbolift as he thought — _well if anyone can live forever, it’s that kid. Even in legacy alone._

He strode down to the chow hall, paying no attention to which sandwich he snagged, and fell into a nearby chair. His stomach growled angrily. He noticed Scotty tread into the room as he raised the food to his mouth. He brought the sandwich away from him, flailed his arms to get the engineer’s attention, and waved him over. 

“Sulu, ol’ friend,” Scotty’s eyes were bright as he sat across from him. “How’re things holdin’ up bridge-side?” A smile was on his face. He had the remarkable ability to keep an infectious light air about him, even in times where turmoil seeped from the walls. Sulu couldn’t himself as he smiled back, feeling the weight that was once on his chest begin to lift. Something about being around the Scotsman didn’t necessarily chase away the heaviness of emotion, but rather took away the intimidation of it. 

“A bit downcast, but, we’re holding up,” he answered, taking a bite. “Engineering?”

“Aw, fine, laddie. How’s the captain?” His question was sincere. He worried for his captain, knowing how much he took upon himself. Kirk was a good friend of Scott’s, and despite knowing that he was the sole man on the ship who could handle the demands of captaincy, he was still Scott’s friend, and that meant his concern for him was mandatory. Sulu chuckled.

“Only God knows, Scotty. He can be a brick wall when he wants to be. Under a lot of stress, I’m sure.”

“And the commander?” There was a small shade of hope laced in his question. The weight that had lifted from Sulu came back down upon him, his smile faltering. 

“I don’t know.” He sighed heavily. “Uh…” Several moments of silence followed, an echo of contrition hanging off his voice. He was going to continue his sentence, comment on what happened to Spock, but he became lost in the memory of it. He blinked a few times, his eyes slipping to a neutral place. Scotty straightened his back and shifted in his seat, then plastered another smile on his face and leaned forward.

“You just had an Angurian jade flower bloom, didn’t ya? I heard about it in the rec room the other day, one o’ the younger botanists was pissin’ himself in excitement talkin’ bout it!”

Sulu looked back up to him, his smile creeping back involuntarily. He wasn’t vapid, he knew what Scotty was doing. However, what Scotty was doing was succeeding, and the thought of his treasured plants did lift his spirits, if only slightly. Damn that Scotsman.

“Yeah, I did,” he said, a small twinkle in his eye. “First one off planet. You know, those things are insanely interesting. Their color derives from the components in the air rather than the ground. And most flowers have thorns or some kind of odor to ward off predators, but these guys are so much more clever than that. According to my research, not a single species on Anguria has these jade’s on their eat list. They’ve evolved to recognize that these flowers aren’t to be screwed with, no sir, you better stay far away from these unless you have death wish!” Scotty smiled as he listened to his friend’s lecture, the subject never failing to bring the best out in him. Sulu was an intelligent man, an expert martial artist and fencer, a skilled helmsman, and could take out a man twice his size. Yet it was the subject of plants and flowers that could turn him to a man of mush. 

“…and I sent an official record of it to Starfleet not too long ago.” He said this with pride, the accomplishment speaking for itself. Then his smile faltered into that of a sad one, the irony of the situation bringing out a dark chuckle. He shook his head. “Ohh, damn this place, huh, Scotty? One day your rare flower is making history, the next…” He waved his hand in the air and dropped his arm back on the table, leaning back in his chair, the indignation evident on his face. Scotty leaned towards him, a look of determination settling into his gaze.

“We’re gonna make it, laddie. We always do,” he urged. Sulu shook his head once more, the action becoming as familiar as breathing.

“I don’t see how, Scott. I can’t seem to imagine a scenario where we can outsmart this thing. Let’s say we do what it wants us to do, for argument’s sake, alright? Basically, free them from that planet and just, let them have the liberty to do whatever they want. With all that indescribable power. I mean, how do we even know that they’ll let us go after that? And if we do what they want, and they _do_ let us go…we’re gonna have to ask ourselves, ‘what have we done?’”

“It’s not gonna go down like that, Sulu. I know the captain won’t give in to that…his will is made too much of iron to be so obedient.” 

Sulu sat back up, exhaling in frustration, mulling over the dead ends he kept coming back to.

“Then Spock dies. We all die,” he admonished. Scotty leaned forward further, his elbows on the table, fire burning in his Scottish eyes.

“Assumin’ they’re not bluffin’.” He articulated his words slowly with an undertone of vexation, quite flamed by the gall of this alien who’s toyed with his ship. His friends.

“What?”

“They could be _bluffin’_ , Sulu, takin’ a piss, ya know?”

“…Taking a piss?”

“Yeah! Maybe they’re takin’ a — oh, I see, you don’t understa—it’s slang for….agh, never mind, ya damn North Americans…listen. I thank the universe I wasn’t there to witness what happened to dear Spock, but whatever they’re capable of…well, who’s to say it’s got an infinite range?”

“Who’s to say it doesn’t?” responded Sulu, somewhat bewildered. Where was he going with this? What gear was cranking in that head of his to make him think such a thing? Perhaps it was because Scotty wasn’t present, but Sulu _was_. The images that were burned in Sulu’s mind, a charred remembrance of what this thing could do _…_ the thought that it was lying about it’s power was unfathomable. 

“That mess the alien was showin’ off up there, it’s got to have a line, don’t ya think?” His words were impassioned, his entire body tense in the belief of what he was saying. “Why else would they need someone else’s help, an ‘inferior’ species’ help to escape, when they can do all o’ that? If they can reach as all the way out to that star cluster, to that moon, like they say they can…why not jus’ tighten their soiled alien drawers an’ do it themselves? Why not take our ship when they had us in their grasp, kill us all, and drive there themselves?” His words were becoming more vehement, his brow lifted in an attempt to persuade his friend into seeing what he himself was. Sulu’s lips were parted in disbelief at the logic, not wanting to acknowledge it, his arms crossed as he shook his head at the Scotsman’s words. Dammit. He had a point. Sulu sighed and put his hands on his knees.

“Scotty…what are you trying to say?”

……………………………………………………………

Chapel stood in front of Spock’s monitor, recording his progress on a notepad. His data had been inconsistent throughout the night, according to McCoy’s report, and they continued to fluctuate. Fortunately, the numbers were not cause for concern. The fact that they so often were changing, however, was rather bizarre. It was only in the last 20 minutes had they begun to stabilize.

Medical records were not supposed to be kept on paper, for they were safer and more organized within the data banks. For Chapel, however, using a pen and writing things with ink helped her to think in a different way. It was something she’d picked up from the CMO. She didn’t often practice it, but, there was an admittedly illogical part of her that hoped she could see a pattern in Spock’s condition.

She heard a soft, sharp inhale to her right, and turned to see Spock open his eyes. The pen in her hand lowered as her arm dropped to her side. His eyes seemed foggy, hazy. He blinked through darkness, images of sickbay and noises of a nurse slowly harassing his senses. His mind was wakening, but he found himself somewhat unaware of his location or company.

“Mr. Spock?” she tried. “Can you hear me?”

He heard her voice, it’s familiarity becoming apparent. Inhaling, exhaling. Strobing lights of faulting electricity illuminating black eyes, the horror upon the captain and crew’s faces there one second, gone the next, there again. The feeling like his body was no longer his own, as if it had belonged to someone else. What a curious feeling it was…to have no control, to have no inclination or predilection what his body was experiencing. _Feeling_. He recalled having no fear, only a logical desire for it to end. It was, in a word, rather agonizing. The nurse repeated the question, her voice clear. He swallowed, not having confidence in his own, and nodded.

“Are you in any pain?”

He did not answer right away, perhaps to try and become more aware of himself to answer. Remaining silent would be considered concerning to a human, and though he found he interestingly did not want to speak, he surmised perhaps he should. 

“No,” he answered. His voice sounded foreign, but the confidence and stability within it was still in tact. Chapel took this positively, as her mind had darkly imagined Spock would be changed when he woke. This _was_ Spock, though. She couldn’t imagine his repertoire could ever sway. 

He moved his head to look at her, her voice finally registering in his mind.

“Chapel.” There was recognition in her name. She nodded.

“Yes.”

Good. The brief confusion was rather inconvenient. He felt the fog encapsulating his mind finally clear, and in doing so, he realized there was simply no point in laying there when words must be exchanged with the captain. 

He raised himself to one elbow, clearly attempting to breach his prone position, but Chapel lifted her arm to him in protest.

“No, your body is still very weak, Commander. Let me call Doctor McCoy.” She gently applied pressure to his shoulder to lay him down, but he resisted. He noted with silent disdain that she was correct, and his muscles did in fact feel very weak. 

“I need to speak with the captain.” He said this in factual, but his words were gravelly and hoarse. He clearly did not understand the gravity of his situation, nor could he hear how his own voice sounded. She held like a statue. His words had no effect on her offense.

“Alright, well I can call him too, but you need to take it easy, Commander.”

His head hit the pillow as she successfully halted his attempt. She swiftly retrieved her communicator. Spock found extreme inconvenience to his situation. The most human part of him he allowed recognition to was the acknowledgment that being in sickbay was entirely unenjoyable.

“Chapel to McCoy.”

Back in his quarters, McCoy had given up on the attempt at sleep. He’d been able to fall into it for a few hours, which frankly, was fine enough. He heard his communicator chirp as he finished tucking in his black undershirt. He dug it out from the pile of clothes laying on the floor. 

“Go ahead.” There was only one reason she would be calling him right now. Well, two, but, he decided he didn’t like the other reason. It was because that green-blooded troll was awake, and nothing else.

“He’s awake, Doctor.” He nodded his head as she confirmed his theory. “He wants to see the captain.”

McCoy couldn’t himself as he chuckled, shaking his head. Of course he wanted to see Jim.

“I’m sure he does. I’m on my way over. McCoy out.” He flipped it close and as a symptom of his sleep habits, stuffed it into his pants pockets. He sighed and cursed himself, then took it back out and stuck it to his hip belt where it belonged. As quickly as he’d ever done it before, he threw on his blue medical shirt and shoved his feet into his boots. He himself may be tired, but the quicker he got there the better; Spock was a terrible patient.

He peeked around the corner, veering into the sickbay. He’d expected some kind of commotion to match the hub-ub of his mind, but it was surprisingly empty. He could hear the click of his heels as he crossed the unbothered tiles, heading for the room in the corner. He involuntarily swallowed as he thought about dragging Spock across these tiles not so long ago.

He crossed the doorframe, the entryway open for doctor-patient observation, and breathed a subconscious sigh of relief at seeing the Vulcan awake. He silently noted what he saw about Spock’s features. Opened eyes, praise Jupiter, understandably paled skin, clenched jaw…ah. There it was. The clenched jaw. He did it every time he was in this room, even for a routine check-up. He consistently tolerated the doctor’s medical scanning and practices as a Vulcan was expected, but he did so with the slightest twinge of contempt, hidden there in that clenched jaw. McCoy smiled in spite of himself. 

“Spock,” he acknowledged. 

“Doctor, I believe I am fit for duty effective immediately,” he replied, slowly lifting himself to sit up against the headboard. Chapel ticked her head, disapproving. “It was, it was temporary and I would prefer to be released.”

McCoy pursed his lips at the statement. Spock was not one to dodge specifics and leave a sentence underdeveloped, yet here one was, leaving the question of what ‘it’ was. Then there was the highly atypical stammer and the grating of his voice. McCoy gave Spock a mocked sympathetic expression. 

“Yeah, well, I’ll be the judge of that. If you can cooperate with me, we might be able to get you outta here. Maybe.” 

That was a lie. Spock could be the epitome of health, reeking of long life and healthy cells. He could do a thousand push-ups and drag the Enterprise through the depths of space with his bare arms. After yesterday, however…after what McCoy witnessed…he knew there was no way in hell Spock was going anywhere.

Spock sighed and straightened his back. It was his way of telling McCoy that he was ready for his interrogation.

“I’m sure Chapel already asked you, but I’m gonna ask you again…are you in any pain?” 

“No.”

McCoy wordlessly stretched his upturned hand to Chapel, who plopped the medical scanner into his palm. He waved it in front of Spock, taking in his readings. One in particular caught his attention. He clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“You gotta headache, Spock?” he asked expectantly. Scorn began to decorate his expression as he cocked his head and looked down to the Vulcan, his arms crossed. He could play this game, too. Spock blinked. What was it about human nature that caused their anger to be so easily tapped? Spock opened his mouth, as McCoy knew he would, but he cut in anyway.

“See, now,” he growled loudly and threw up his hands, exasperated. “This is the kind of thing you gotta tell me, Spock! I ask, ‘hey Spock, are you in any pain?’ and you say, ‘you know what, Doctor McCoy, I have this headache, you see. That’s something you should probably know.’ And then we carry on like normal, civilized people in a medical environment, and I can even do something about that headache of yours! Because I’m a doctor!” He pointed his finger and tapped it into the air, a staccato of his annoyance.

Spock took in a deep, hardly noticeable breath, and looked to the ceiling. It was a habit he was known to do in more vexing situations. His eyes migrated from the tile to McCoy.

“It was not something that I—“

“I’ll tell you if it’s concerning or not, Spock. I’m the damn doctor here.” He was admittedly frustrated with the stubborn fool, but the relief at his counterpart’s beating heart won out. He sucked in a breath of air through his teeth and turned to his nurse. The absolute fury that engulfed him as he had kneeled next to an unconscious, beaten Spock was still raging under the quietude that followed the night. It wasn’t fair to expel it now, after he had just woken, no matter how incredibly _irritating_ he could be. He huffed and let go of the tensity of his shoulders.

“Do me a favor, and go get the captain, Christine,” he asked, turning to her.  She nodded knowingly and left the room.

“Is there an issue with communications—?”

“No, no, everything is tip top.” McCoy scooted his chair back to beside Spock’s bed, taking a seat despite the somewhat skeptical expression the other man gave him. He folded his hands in his lap and crossed his legs.

“Do you remember?” he asked. His voice receded to it’s regular volume. Spock lifted an eyebrow dubiously, and looked to the wall. It was an effective mask he often deployed. 

“I believe so, yes,” he answered flatly. He looked back to McCoy, his expression infallible. McCoy roamed his eyes over Spock’s face, trying to read what Spock was not writing. He wanted to ask him if he was alright, as he normally did with his patients, but it was futile with this one. It always was. His eye caught the paled, violet skin that highlighted a small area near the base of his neck. Where wire met flesh. McCoy rubbed his hands together, dumbly wishing they could retreat back several solar days and avoid the path the Enterprise had taken.

“Good, good. Well, uh,” he scratched the back of his head, reviewing Spock’s readings on his PADD. Time hadn’t made them make any more sense, and they now currently read as normal and stabilized. How wonderful.

“Somehow, there isn’t a single trace of what’s happened to you, except, ya know, a headache,” Spock almost rolled his eyes, “and you look and sound like shit.” Spock’s head tilted, finding the observation peculiar. He opened his mouth, then closed it. McCoy raised his eyebrows, wondering if he finally rendered the Vulcan speechless, but of course that could never be the case.

“Then you can clear me to—“

“I’m not releasin’ ya yet, Spock,” he said frankly with a small shake of the head. It just wasn’t going to happen. He saw Spock let out a small huff of breath, his agitation as clear as he would allow it to be. _Emotionless, my ass._

 _“_ Well, you know what happened to you. Do you know what that fu…” He had to bite his tongue. “What that _alien_ said? While you were…?”

Spock’s impassive expression softened as he thought back to it. He recalled white blindness. Shocking, seemingly impossible pain. The words preceding this, the words between it and Captain Kirk, he could remember. His memory did not fail him. It was that his memory had only been able to record the intense violence every fiber of his being had ingested. While he was trapped, unable to escape that which was killing him, that which was suffocating him…nothing else at the time seemed important. 

“I do not know.”

McCoy swallowed, beginning to dislike the conversation. 

“Well, uh, we…we agreed to it’s terms. It threatened you and the ship otherwise.” He finally saw the first real emotion escaping the Vulcan’s facade, in the form of a furrowed brow and slightly widened eyes. He sighed, knowing that Spock’s opinion on that matter probably matched his own. _I don’t like it either._

“We’ve been hauling ass for about 14 hours now. Still have another day before we even get there. And then there’s comin’ back.” He peered at the Vulcan, who was now beginning to shake his head. 

“Something on your mind?”

“We are making a mistake.”

McCoy didn’t have the chance to agree with him before the captain practically ran through the archway, the nurse tailing behind him.

“Spock!” Kirk smiled, his arms half raised in joy, as he walked towards them. His eyes were bright at the sight of his friend awake, but he could not mask his concern.

“You alright?” he asked, finding stance next to McCoy and his chair. Spock nodded once. 

“Yes, Captain. I was attempting to translate that to Doctor McCoy, however he effectively ignored me.”

Kirk gave half a chuckle, his hands on his hips. He would have ignored him too. God, he couldn’t believe how relieved he felt. There was no number on how many times Spock wanted out of sickbay and McCoy wouldn’t let him; it’s familiarity was comforting. He looked down to McCoy’s huffy figure and put his hand on his shoulder. _Thank you._

“Spock,” Kirk met eyes with the Vulcan, “with all due respect, you did just wake up.”

“The doctor’s lawless instruments can cite me when I convey that yes, I am in fact ‘alright’. And I am, Captain.” To his credit, he did seem far more healthy than Kirk expected him to. He sounded hoarse, but his words were wholly reminiscent of the Vulcan he was a day ago. Kirk shook his head at the stubbornness of his first officer. How could he want to even be awake after almost _killed?_ He glanced down to McCoy.

“Doc?”

“I don’t feel comfortable releasing him, Jim.” He shrugged his shoulders. Yes, Spock’s vitals were back to normal, or as normal as a ridiculously obnoxious hybrid’s could be, but still; no. Kirk gave Spock a look, expecting him to accept it, but his good mood was shaken when he read Spock’s eyes. The Vulcan had a deep gaze, intense, a determination set behind him. His expressions were normally light, his muscles rarely tense, often unreadable if you didn’t know him…now, however, he was staring right into Kirk. It was almost startling, being an absolute outlier compared to his paled skin and greying eye circles. Kirk immediately knew that Spock needed to speak with him, something that would not rest until communicated. Now.

“You think you’re able enough, Spock?” he asked, his own eyes a reply. It was as if they’d had a conversation, conventional communication not needed, each understanding the words not being said. McCoy shook his head rapidly, his eyes bugging, completely taken aback by Kirk’s question. He hurled his hands up in the air and jolted his head towards Christine, wondering if he was the only sane person in the room. She shrugged back.

“Did you not hear what I just said, Jim?!”

Kirk ignored him, still looking to Spock, waiting for his answer.

“Yes, Jim,” Spock stressed. Kirk stared at him for a few more moments, questioning if Spock was well enough to know what was good for him. His ordeal was not forgotten. Finally, Kirk nodded and looked to McCoy, who’s jaw was hung open and his arms turned outwards in frozen shock.

“An hour, Bones, maybe. I’ll bring him back and you can do what you need to do, and we’ll go from there. He says he’s well enough, well, we’ll see for ourselves. We’ll stay on this deck, we won’t go far.” He turned the corner of his mouth up sympathetically. “Alright?”

McCoy scoffed hard and looked between Kirk and Spock.

“Well, Christ, do I even have a choice? Fine, get outta here, you dried, green-blooded warthog,” he stood and threw open the closet door. He gestured dramatically to the hanging uniform and flung his hands behind his head as he stormed past the archway. “There ya go, you damned good for nothing bastards…IF HE COLLAPSES AND BREAKS HIS NECK, IT ON YOU, JIM!” He yelled over his shoulder, already halfway out of medical. Chapel smiled at the ground at her CMO’s temper and followed him out.

Kirk exhaled slowly and looked back to Spock who was, unsurprisingly, attempting to stand.

“Easy, easy.” He walked over to the side of the bed, keeping his distance for his friend’s humility, but preparing his reflexes in case they were needed. 

As Spock slowly put his legs down to the floor, he felt a weakness in his muscles he’d never before felt. It was absolutely disagreeable. As a Vulcan, and who he was as a person, the need for another’s support was undesirable. Humans had this strange, communal romanticism regarding co-dependency, and it was something of their race Spock could never understand. His father was logically distant from Spock as a child, as Spock was to his mother, and as the rest of Vulcan was to him. He depended on the lack of dependency. He felt humiliation at the need for the captain spotting his movements. However, observing the fatigue lining his body, he was also grateful for it.

His feet laid on the cold tile and he looked down at his sickbay livery…a loose white shirt and black pants. He did not know why, but he suddenly thought back to an Earth civilization course he had taken when he was young. The hospitals centuries ago assigned patients an awkward and displeasing dressing gown, held together by a string in the back, absolutely mandatory. He quietly thanked medical advancement, as there would be no injury or illness that could make him wear such a thing.

“Are you okay?” a quiet voice asked him nearby. Spock snapped out from his memory, and nodded his head.

“Yes, Captain.”

He braced his arm on the bed as he stood, still somewhat curious at the level of his fatigue. He straightened his back, attempting to hide his frailty from the captain. 

“Conference room down the hall?” Kirk offered.

“That would be sufficient, yes.”

Kirk pressed his lips together and smiled. “Alright, I’m gonna talk to Bones in his office. You change, and we’ll go.” He turned to leave, but his peripherals caught a small shiver run through Spock, and his stomach dropped to his ankles. He pivoted around just as Spock’s knees gave out and he pitched towards the floor. Kirk practically lunged as he snatched Spock’s forearms, saving him from the impact of the tile, his heart lurching as he recalled Spock hitting the deck of the bridge. The chill of his friend’s skin was as jarring as the fall.

“You alright?” he pressed, his eyes wide with surprise and concern. Spock tensed and let go of his grip on Kirk.

“Yes, I apologize, Captain, I was not expecting to…” He trailed off. Kirk blinked away the disturbance he felt at Spock not finishing his sentence. Wasn’t expecting to…fall? To feel so weak? Although Spock had let go, Kirk held onto him a for a few more moments until he was convinced he was stable.

“Don’t worry about it, Spock, I should think it’s to be expected. You’ve had it pretty rough. Just don’t break your neck, or I won’t hear the end of it.” He gave him a small smile, trying as he could to brush it off in hope of sparing Spock from too much embarrassment. Spock simply nodded.

Kirk stepped away, knowing Spock’s diameter of comfortability, and gave him a once-over. He heard McCoy’s angry shouts echo in the back of his mind, and he hoped he was making the right choice. With a final affirmation from Spock that he was capable, Kirk stepped out and activated the privacy door. A part of him already knew what Spock wished to speak with him about. He was going to attempt to convince him to advert their foolish, vacuous mission. But it just wasn’t that simple…he wasn’t going to obey the outline given to them by the alien, but there was also no way Kirk could put Spock’s life on the line like that again. He wasn’t going to put his ship’s life on the line. He couldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very happy that I decided to re-write this...I feel so much better about it! To those of you who have transferred from the previous version to this one, I greatly appreciate it. I'm very honored to have such kind readers who would be willing to read the same story all over again. LLAP, my friends.


	8. Reiterations of Logic

“I don’t necessarily want him out of sickbay either, Bones. But you said it yourself, his vitals are normal.” Kirk leaned against McCoy’s wooden desk, looking at his friend sitting in the soft light given off by a single lamp. Kirk speculated the good doctor probably had a raging headache.

“Listen, Jim. You can take him gallivanting around the ship for exactly one hour, and then you bring his ass straight back here. If he still seems weak by that time, and he _is_ weak, then he’s confined to quarters. He needs to _rest._ Done, the end,” he concluded dismissively. He twisted his chair around so he was facing into his desk, but in a change of mind, swiveled it back to look at Kirk. “And I swear to Christ almighty, if it comes to that and I hear any lip from either of you, I will turn into a pile of dust and leave Matney in charge.”

Kirk grimaced. Matney was an idiot. 

“Alright, alright, alright, alright, alright.” Kirk rolled his eyes and looked to his friend, who was scribbling furiously on a notepad. He observed him for a moment, the scratching of the pen harmonizing with the low hum of the lamp. The frustration and fatigue of the doctor leaked off him like slime on a slug. 

“Do you need to sleep, Bones?”

McCoy sighed heavily and put his forehead in his hand, the pen thwacking the desk as he put it down. His eyes were on the wood, his shoulders slacking. Kirk didn’t need him to answer to know. It was ironic, how McCoy was constantly hounding Spock for his lack of conveyed emotion. He, too, kept things that were weighing his mind to himself. 

“Look, Bones…” 

“I don’t need to sleep, Jim. I tried. To be honest, I’m very worried about him.” He disclosed this first without taking his eyes off the desk, then he sat back in his chair and looked up to Kirk. His face was stony. He did not say it because he needed to vent, but he said it as a warning of what he feared for the future. 

“Why?” asked Kirk. He trusted Doctor McCoy invaluably, and his concern for Spock left Kirk rather…concerned. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No, Jim, you know as much as I do. Yes, his vitals have stabilized. Nothing seems to be wrong with him besides exhaustion, which is normal, and a headache, which is normal. But…” He released something between a scoff and a laugh. “But Jim, you saw what it did to him. You and I will never know what it felt like to be up there like he was, but by God, I think we can at least conclude it was something close to hell. Never in my years of working with that Vulcan have I hardly seen him so much as _wince_ , save for very rare times, and…” The light of the dim lamp flickered subtly…quite regularly. They each glanced at it, McCoy’s eyes with contempt, and he inhaled deeply. “…and I can’t help but doubt the assumption that he’s going to be a shining piece of green Vulcan chrome with no remaining problems.”

Kirk considered this for a few silent moments. “Well I suppose that’s very logical,” he said. McCoy’s shoulders dropped and he gave Kirk a look.

“That’s not very damn funny.”

“Bones, you’re right. OK? You’re saying what I don’t want to be thinking. But what am I supposed to do, force him to sit here and rot away in our worry for what may or may not happen? You know how he withers without any work, when he’s idle. We can’t quarantine him when at this exact moment, nothing seems to be wrong with him.”

“Alright! So take him! But you keep a damn close eye on him, Captain.” He swiveled back into his desk, apparently finished with the conversation. Kirk lifted himself from his leaning position, rolled his eyes once more, in good nature, and put his hand on McCoy’s chair to pull it back to face him. 

“Bones…” he said his name fervently, “I need to thank you, for watching out for him.”

“I didn’t do anything, Jim. Once that piece of alien shit let him go, there was hardly anything I could do.” He tried turning back, but Kirk kept his hold on the chair. His eyes, his voice, were soft.

“You looked after my first officer when I could not.”

McCoy looked up at him, his mouth finally closed. They shared this stare for a few moments. He did not know what to say, and he nodded. Kirk reciprocated the nod and lifted himself up. The doctor’s office door was one of three on the ship that had a classic door handle, and Kirk closed it quietly behind him as he left.

To his surprise, Spock was on the other side of the room, speaking with Chapel. He had donned his rightful Starfleet uniform, his rank perfectly positioned as it always was. He seemed almost normal, as if nothing had even happened. Had it not been for that earlier lapse in strength or his complexion, Kirk may have guessed the incident hadn’t affected the Vulcan at all. Spock heard the click of the door closing, and he looked over. Nodding at Chapel, he departed and walked to meet Kirk. The captain idly wondered if it was taking a discernible amount of concentration to conceal his condition.

“You ready?” he asked him, the inquiry of his well being doubling the question. Spock nodded, and together they left the sickbay.

Spock successfully ignored the stares of the crew members they’d passed. It was only the bridge who witnessed what had happened to him, so naturally, the entire ship knew. He kept his eyes forward, willing his muscles to perform without error. He had never been so conscious of how many components there were to walking until he had to pay fill mind to them. 

A shallow wave of relief came upon him when they finally reached the empty conference room. The doors swooshed closed, and it was once again only he and the captain. He would not allow it to show on his features, but the short walk down the corridor had left him more exhausted than he would have liked. Unknown to him, Kirk had been stealing discreet glances, waiting to find any sign that they needed to head back. He was happy to find that so far, Spock did seem alright.

The walls were lined with star maps, photographs of various ships, and the plastered flags of all Federation planets. It was a smaller conference room, usually used for morning roll call and department meetings. They lowered themselves into seats at the corner of the table. 

“Alright,” Kirk began, “before you say anything, I need to tell you—“

“Doctor McCoy has already informed me of our situation, Captain.”

“No, no, not that — I mean, yes, I’ll get to that, but,” he unfolded his hands and put his palms on his knees. Spock looked at him quizzically. Kirk inhaled deeply, forgetting his doubts and his hesitations in the presence of his very much breathing first officer. 

“I am just so very, very glad you are alive, Spock,” he admitted. He, of course, knew how Vulcans regarded emotional statements, thus they were never exchanged between the two of them. After what he saw, heard, felt half a day ago…well, he couldn’t help himself. He needed Spock to know. Spock ticked his head ever so slightly, the only evidence he heard him at all.

Unbeknownst to Kirk, Spock thought something similar. He was convinced that yesterday was his last day of breath. His life would be gone, but Spock felt no regret at the acknowledgment of that. However, through the agony that surrounded him while on the bridge, he had felt… _worry_ …for his captain, his ship. Surely, were it to kill him, it would kill them too. Waking in the sickbay, seeing the ship in tact, listening to the calmness in the nurse’s voice that assured him of the crew’s safety…consolation filled him in knowing such a pertinent ship was untouched.

“Captain, we cannot harvest those crystals.” No verification of what he thought was found in his statement. Kirk hung his head; he wasn’t sure he expected. He sighed. 

“Spock, I’m…I don’t know exactly what the plan is yet. But—“

“It would simultaneously be suicide on the Enterprise and a disservice to this galaxy,” he pressed, “perhaps more than this galaxy.”

“Yes, I know, but I’m not going to simply turn the ship around and just pick up where we left off as if nothing happened.”

“It would be morally against who we are as explorers and beings to release that species.”

“Spock, it promised against your life, the entire ship’s life.”

“Perhaps that is a trade we must take.”

Kirk stared at him. He looked in his eyes, hoping to find regret in what he just said, but he only found the hardness that occupied them. Spock often offered suggestions not widely accepted by most other officers, though they were always founded in logic, but this was not something in which Kirk could find common ground.

“You’re saying we let them take the Enterprise?” he clarified. “And all 400 men and women aboard her? Spock, you know what they’re capable of—“

“Captain Kirk, I know exactly what they are capable of,” retorted Spock, a hint of fire and ice behind his voice, his eyes stone. It was piercing enough to catch Kirk off guard, and he stopped mid-sentence with his mouth partially open. Spock had let more emotion slip than he meant to, but it did gather his captain’s attention. He continued. 

“And that is why I cannot allow them to have the freedom to leave. I could not live peacefully knowing that they would do to civilizations what they had done to me.” Spock’s voice was stern, quiet. There was an unexpected protectiveness he regarded towards any planet his ship had come across, towards any planet he knew to be out there in the vast unknown. It was logical, however, was it not? The innumerous beings who had no possible idea of what lay in this corner of the galaxy, left for condemnation because this one starship supplied a life source to this one alien species. Nothing could outweigh the need for their safety from a callous power such as this. A power Spock had not before found plausible. A power once written in fiction, the destroyer of worlds, of galaxies, of souls. Where heroes and heroines mystically stopped such a power, by the wit and creativity of the author, and the good in all existence could live in happy.

This was not fiction. There were no heroes, no heroines, no one who could concoct an antidote to the end of a life. 

This was quite real.

Kirk’s skin crawled, seeing the fierceness in which Spock regarded this. In the face of decision, Spock normally regarded such things with calm, rhetoric logic. Here, based in such present logic, was now personal persuasion. Personal experience. What kind of torment had his friend encountered? 

Kirk sat back in his chair and looked to the wall, his eyes seeing something other than the star maps in front of him. He didn’t know what action to take. He didn’t know how to come out on top of this.

“To be honest, Spock, I’m…I’m at a loss of what to do. I’m not going to do what you just suggested,” he put a hand up when Spock opened his mouth to protest, “and I’m also not going to just obey our current alien orders.”

He put his head in his hand, his elbow resting on the table. He was so incredibly tired. When had he last slept? He could not recall. His mind subconsciously drifted to the forests of Earth, the smell of rained upon dirt, the distant echoes of birds and beasts. Trees that touched the sky, seclusion that was barren from danger and agony and affliction. He nodded to himself, silently, as he came upon the conclusion that he would take a long hike once they returned home.

If they returned.

The exhaustion on the captain was easily readable by Spock, and he could feel his own pulsing with every pump of blood. He wanted to tell his friend that he was in need of sleep, that he should retreat to his captain quarters to do so. However, he knew that the problem before them was much larger than their own. 

“I am gathering that the alien threatened me first,” hypothesized Spock, “should we abandon it’s demands. As a warning. And should we continue on our rebellion, the ship would come secondary. Anything left, tertiary.”

Kirk’s eyes were closed, his head continuing to rest in his hand. He nodded once more.

“Scott to Kirk.” The communicator buzzed at Kirk’s hip. He opened his eyes at it’s call. Alone with Spock, he could allow himself a level of vulnerability. He often did. With his ship, however, his demeanor would betray nothing but captaincy. 

“Go ahead,” he answered.

“Sir, I’d like to speak with ya. It’s urgent. It’sa ‘bout our current situation, if ya will,” came the reply. Kirk and Spock exchanged glances, both curious to what the engineer had to say about the seemingly hopeless predicament. 

“You have news regarding it?”

“Not exactly, sir. Simply a theory. I cannae explain it to ya over the communicator.” Whatever it was, absolute rubbish or otherwise, Kirk welcomed any insight. He was stuck, thoughtless over what a winning outcome could be. He looked to Spock. He nodded his approval. 

“Conference room 03 Beta. Kirk out.”

First officer and captain had not commented further on the matter, however it did not take long for the engineer and helmsman to skirt into the room. Kirk sat up, somewhat surprised by Sulu’s presence, however the shock was hardly lasting as he and the Scotsman were known to be thick as thieves. 

“Gentlemen. What’s this all about then?” Kirk wanted to know, right now, why this was so urgent and what they had to say. Scotty had come in, guns blazing, ready to spew his insight to the captain — but Kirk was not the only one surprised by the other’s company. Scotty immediately settled his gaze onto Spock, both he and Sulu pleasantly startled by the Vulcan’s presence. A wide smile spread upon the Scotsman’s face.

“Why, Commander Spock! Glad to see you’re straight ways up, sir, I’dda think we’d sail this ship all sorts of wrong without ya for another day.” His gave him a toothy smile. Spock simply nodded, wordlessly conveying his appreciation. Kirk couldn’t stop his own creeping smile. What was it about this man that made things seem so less difficult?

“Come on, then, gents, time is a factor here,” he pressed with a touch of amusement. The men took their seats, and Scotty leaned towards the captain. 

“Captain, I think we’re due to consider the limits of these bein’s,” he said furiously.

“Explain.”

“Well, based off your report and what Sulu here’s been tellin’ me, I’m figurin’ these devils have got’ta have a line with those powers o’ theirs, hmm? Take that ship that you lot saw. What’s that all about, then? I mean, I think we can all agree it was connected to these slimy bastards, naturally.” 

“Naturally.”

“Right, see, here’s what I cannae help but to stew on; the alien was a hologram, Captain, that much is certain, faulting like a pod tinkered with by a cadet. It cannae leave the planet, or it woulda when it came up to pay us a visit. So it noticed us, out in the distance, sputterin’ on towards D684. It wanted our attention.”

“Go on.”

“Well so it lures us in! With the hologram of a ship! A hologram!”

His declaration hung between the men. Spock tilted his head as he regarded the engineer. It was brilliantly…logical. They had recognized the alien to be three-dimensional without it’s explicit presence, in the form of an image, but they had not transferred such a thought towards the mystery of the ship. Kirk rested his chin in his palm pensively.

“Scotty…”

“Captain, _Jim_ , if they needed to use a hologram to lure us in, well that’s got’ta mean somethin’! They needed us within a certain range to do what they did! They needed our Enterprise in orbit to make their appearance, and used that range of orbit to put a bloody ship up there! A fake one! An’ not to mention, if they had such a range as they boasted, why didn’t they manipulate us from where they were when they spotted us? I’ll bet my crumpy bottom dollar it’s because they couldn’t. _They needed us in orbit to telekinetically reach us_.” He articulated his words with small shakes of his head, his hands speaking in tandem with his voice. “They’re bluffin’, Jim!”

Kirk inhaled deeply, staunching his rising hope. More information, more time, before he could rely on the rationality of the engineer. It was grossly logical, in fact, so much so that Kirk wished to believe it immediately and act upon it. He needed to explore every option first, to reason with all other avenues before bringing this to command. 

“It was able to manipulate the ship, Scotty, without it even being on board. It was able to completely incapacitate, nearly kill, Commander Spock without even being on board! The alien was a hologram, yes, but that didn’t seem to impair it’s power.”

“It was a _platform_ for it’s power, sir. It needed you to believe it, to see the horrors of which it was capable, to make you believe it could have the power to destroy us at any moment and at any distance. To showcase just what it was able to do so you’d have enough fear not to ever doubt it.You instill enough uncensored fear into somethin’, and you’ve got yourself the power to convince ‘em of anythin’.”

“What do you propose, Scott?”

“We turn this rig around, Captain. All the way around.”

Kirk immediately shook his head. “No. No, it would be irresponsible. It’s too great a risk for the Enterprise.”

“But Captain —“

“I won’t do it, Scotty. What you’ve said, the things you’ve laid out just now…it has a backing, Scotty, I recognize that. But risking the entire ship on a whim…”

“Might I suggest we deviate from our course, if only slightly, and observe what becomes of me, Captain,” Spock said suddenly, breaking his silence.

“What?!” Kirk thought his eyes would bug out, his head hung in disbelief at what his first officer had the audacity of suggesting.

“I am only one, Captain. The Enterprise is many, and civilizations at risk are many more. Should we venture too far off this path, as Mister Scott proposes, the succession of death from myself to the Enterprise could be too succinct to stop. Should we do so at a marginal amount, to regain course at the sign of truth from their words, you may at least spare the Enterprise to gain further time to explore other options.”

A wave of nausea swept across Kirk, the staunched hope now extinguished. He could deny Scotty’s requests which would endanger the entire Enterprise, but how could he logically deny Spock’s? He’d only just gotten Spock’s life back, and now he was volunteering to lose it. Sulu hesitantly exchanged a glance with Scotty, who’s smile was no where to be seen.

“I can’t do that, Spock,” Kirk finally answered, despite what logic told him. He looked to the ground, knowing what was about to ensue. A logical, compelling argument made by Spock that Kirk would have to adhere to. He released a puff of air through his nose and clenched his jaw, waiting.

“Captain,” began Spock, “it is unlikely, that if in fact they were being truthful and can reach us from this distance, that I would be immediately killed. I suspect they are desperate for these crystals, likely needing them on a level of desideratum, and would give timely precursors prior to my final breath.”

“We might have enough time to get back on course before anything serious happens to him,” agreed Sulu bleakly. He did not expect the conversation to have taken this turn. Perhaps he just so wanted Scotty’s speculations to be true, and all harm could disappear, leaving them free to break off and continue exploring the cosmos. He recognized his naivety with gloom.

Kirk slowly closed his eyes, and he put his thumb and middle finger on his temples. This could not be happening. He let the action sit for no more than a few seconds, then he placed his hand back down to meet the light, clear gaze from Spock. He didn’t need to hear him say those words. His stare said it for him. _The needs of the many…_

Kirk sighed, defeated. What choice did he have? Before this abrupt conference meeting, Kirk had no shade of hope whatsoever, seeing nothing other than loss in every option. Now, at least, there was something. A small glimmer in the thought that perhaps Spock wasn’t at risk…that in fact, the alien was lying and his friend could be spared from any further harm. That his ship could warp far, far away from this bear cave they’ve come across. 

“And what happens when it becomes obvious that Spock is being affected?” he asked, dread dragging in the question’s wake. Scotty and Sulu looked at each other again, hoping the other had the answer, as it was something they had not considered. They didn’t need one, however, as Spock already had it prepared.

“We release a message via satellite and space wave communication into this galaxy, warning all explorers to avoid the coordinates of the planet D684. We ensure with full confidence that Starfleet has all information available. Then, we leave the alien’s, their crystals, and their demands behind and wait for their threat to become reality. Or, in the unlikely chance it is made clear, consider other options not apparent to us at this time.”

“And, you’ll be dead by that point.”

Spock regarded Kirk with intent, knowing that the most human part of the captain abhorred the idea of Spock’s death, and Spock wished he would not think in this way.

“Hypothetically, yes, Jim.”

Kirk shook his head again, staggered by the conversation. There was no way they could physically defeat them, as their power could likely rival all the phaser banks on the ship. There was no help, in any direction, in which they could call upon. 

It was only Kirk, his ship, and his first officer with a death wish.


	9. Triumvirate

“Are you fucking kidding me?” hissed McCoy. “That’s real rich, Jim. For Christ’s sake.”

“Doctor, may I remind you it was a suggestion fabricated by myself,” interjected Spock. He was quietly grateful for the empty sickbay, as he had fully predicted that the CMO would take the latest development poorly.

“You shut the hell up, you suicidal beanpole,” McCoy retorted, a finger pointed accusingly at the Vulcan. Spock raised an eyebrow.

“What choice do I have, Bones?” implored Kirk. This course of action they’ve chosen to take was not what he had wanted. Had he the power to do so, he would take the risk upon himself. He would eradicate the danger from Spock. His commands ought to affect _him._ Yet in the cruel kismet of the universe, he was acutely aware that this was not possible. 

“Spock brought up a good point,” he continued, “we can probably regain our course before anything deplorable happens. And that’s only if they _weren’t_ lying about their powers, which honestly, I’m beginning to think that they probably did.” He glanced over and made eye contact with Spock, as if to assure himself of his argument. Spock gave the smallest nod, an encouragement perceptible to only Kirk. McCoy scoffed.

“Well, that’s a great plan, really. I mean, kudos to the both of you, because frankly, you’ve outdone yourselves.” He was pacing half the length of sickbay, the three of them the only occupants. He rubbed his jaw with his hand, shaking his head to himself as the news mulled the crevices of his brain. Internally, he recognized that he was becoming emotional. The passions of the incident hadn’t receded. His impulsive reaction was stronger than this recognition, and it was left behind as another wave of indignation flicked his heart.

“And, pray tell, Jim, what if they weren’t lying about their powers? And if that is the case, what if Pointy is wrong about how they’ll handle killing him? You two knuckle heads are just assuming they’ll kill him slowly, ya know, really drag it out, which is what we want for some reason, but that just might be fuck dirt wrong. He could die instantly, or within a few minutes! What then?!” He was becoming livid, obvious from not only his intonation, but more consistent use of insults and swears. Kirk looked away from him, torn between his agreement and his unavoidable realism. His friend was right, but the man’s accuracy could not sway their circumstances. 

“Bones, you need to see this from my side.”

“You fail to remember the alternative,” added Spock, “which is; we sentence countless lives in this galaxy, or more, to torture and death by doing as we were obligated by threat to do. We are no longer a starship affiliated with Starfleet, but rather a courier of iniquity, the crystals the crime. It is plainly clear you are overcome by your irrationalism, however I am also aware of your perceptions of life. You cannot deny that that alternative is not only the less desirable, but the wholly unacceptable.”

“There has to be another way!” McCoy bellowed, his hands pushing the air. Suddenly he stopped pacing and snapped his fingers.

“Wait! Wait. We get the crystals, and Spock and I can synthesize a toxin and embed it into the damned things. When they use them, they’ll be laced with death! Right?!”

“We know nothing of these beings, Doctor McCoy,” reminded Spock, his face a wall of apathy. The discussion of his and the ship’s future was nothing more than rationality, a matter the doctor was distinctively struggling with. “It would be physically impossible to select the correct chemicals and elements and for them to be guaranteed effective.”

“You know this is your life we’re ping ponging around, right, Spock?” McCoy ran a hand through his hair, considered something, then flung his hand dismissively towards the other two and returned to pacing. 

Kirk, famished and exhausted, sat on a nearby biobed. McCoy’s outburst was not solitary. Kirk too felt the anger and consternation McCoy was exhibiting. He hadn’t eaten in over a day, however he had no desire to. His appetite had been obliterated the first time he heard Spock scream, which was now almost 24 hours ago. Those muffled shouts continued to echo in his head, bouncing off the most vulnerable parts of his mind, challenging the image of the now unshakeable Vulcan beside him. Had that been Spock?

“Captain,” Spock looked to him. “Perhaps we should hail Misters Scott and Sulu. They did an effective job at explaining—"

“No, Spock, dammit, I get it, I get it,” McCoy said tightly. “Yes, it does make sense, alright? I concede. I won’t rule out the possibility of them lying, because your damn logic IS sound. Maybe, maybe, we try this out and everything turns out hunky dory. But we are going on a _hunch_ here. We have no solid facts. Doesn’t that bother you, Spock? Aren’t you always yammering on about how you need cold hard facts to make logical assumptions?”

“In situations where facts are available, then you would be correct, McCoy. Unfortunately, this is not one of those situations. Conceivably there is a part of me that continues to regard this with contrite, but as a friend once told me, perhaps a feeling, or a hunch, is all we have to go on.”

McCoy blinked, wondering if he had heard him correctly. As always, the Vulcan’s stature was tall and his eyes lacked anything facetious. McCoy’s muscles relaxed in defeat, his pacing stopped, and he slowly shook his head. How could this one, the damned _victim_ , be the pillar of strength in the room? He brought his gaze to Spock, and the rage he’d previously felt dissipated like fog. He’d constantly chastise the Vulcan for his lack of emotion, his sometimes invisible empathy…he might even find himself to believe Spock was the furthest from a human as a half human could get. Yet the universe would always kick him in his place with moments like these, times in which the humanity in Spock would remind the doctor of his complexity.

Spock wasn’t secretive, exactly, but he was rather private. McCoy did not know much about his past or his life on Vulcan, but he did know that it was reclusive. He’d met the man’s father, after all, and it wasn’t exactly a nurturing relationship. Starfleet seemed to be all the science officer had. This seemingly cursed ship was the only home which wasn’t a half of him. McCoy often doubted decisions and thoughts processed by the Vulcan, but Spock’s desire for the Enterprise’s safety was always a constant. And if not the Enterprise, then life itself. McCoy didn’t always realize how much greater his admiration for Spock was than his annoyance.

Spock recognized something different in the doctor’s eyes now…pity? No, that wasn’t quite it. The longer the doctor looked to him, the more potent the emotion became…

_Compassion._ Spock felt somewhat confused at this, as hadn’t this look been preceded by a discernible amount of shouting? The captain beside him regarded him similarly, although this was more typical.

Spock’s summarization of this plan had brought an unexpected wave of acceptance to go through Kirk. The lack of knowledge of the outcome disturbed the captain, but they were not naked in theory. They had a hunch, a gut feeling which was the sole option to consider. McCoy sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes with one hand.

“So…when do we do this?” he asked tiredly.

“Well,” answered Kirk softly, peering at his thumbs, “we’re about 18 hours away from reaching that moon. So, now.” He looked up.

“Alright, then,” replied McCoy quietly.

Kirk ordered all bridge officers to their stations, sleeping or otherwise. He needed his senior staff prepared for whatever may follow. The three of them made their way to the head of the ship, not exchanging a single word. The anticipation of what was to come rang louder than speech.

Kirk walked through the entryway confidently, the two tailing behind him. He was braced to give his orders. Spock took his loyal place beside the captain’s chair, hands held behind his back. A thin layer of unease shelled his skin. His eyes betrayed nothing. 

Fearful that Spock would combust into a trillion pieces, McCoy stood on the raised lip of the bridge, unable to keep his stare off the Vulcan. He’d come to terms that they had no other option, but there was not a damn molecule in his body that liked it.

“Alright gang,” Kirk inhaled deeply, meeting the attentive eyes of the bridge. “We’re explorers, first and foremost. We ventured into this starscape looking for peaceful, intelligent life. For the answers to mysteries, for the curiosity of our species. What we’ve found here was something hostile, merciless, and the evil that our ancestors once assumed about the cosmos. This universe has unimaginable, indescribable beauty within it and it is something we cherish intensely…”

Chekov looked hesitantly to his friend Sulu, each of them knowing the conclusion their captain was going to reach. They were completely sided with Kirk, however that could not dismiss the edge from the young ensign. Sulu’s eyes became a little brighter at the glance, the smallest heartening smile playing on his mouth. 

“…we believe we can all co-exist in such beauty, and the last thing we want is for that alluring prospect to be jeopardized. We all know what we signed up for when we boarded this ship, and I think I can speak for us all when I say the exhilaration we felt coming aboard was much stronger than the fear. And the fear is real. The fear is valid. But Starfleet _means_ something, and we can prove to ourselves that we truly are the good in the universe.” 

The determination stewed the air around them, thick with their perverse will. It was uplifting for Kirk, to know his crew was so fortified with such punishing, testing circumstances. He briefly explained Scott’s theorem and his total agreement with it. 

“It’s a risk, but it’s a risk we’ve got to be willing to make.” A beat passed. “We’re leaving.”

There were more than a few smiles, all enlightened by their path of integrity. McCoy gave a small smile too, his friend’s words hitting him where they needed to. No part of the doctor wished to see this species released, to unleash their cutthroat ways to unsuspecting souls. It was why he was so concerned about it prior to Kirk assuring him otherwise. There was also sadness that accompanied his features, as he just wished there didn’t have to be a risk to their valued goodness.

“Mr. Sulu, warp factor 2. Get us off the course at a 35 degree angle, bearing 8.7.” He desperately wished to use every ounce of starship juice to warp away as rapidly as possible, but they were fabricating everything they believed about this alien’s threats. He needed to take it slow, veering away a modest amount, for Spock’s sake. 

“Right away, Captain,” Sulu acknowledged. He ramped the steer and plotted the course. McCoy wrung his hands and glanced nervously between Spock and the view screen, waiting for him to keel over any moment. Kirk sat tall in his chair, his mind on hyperdrive, his hands braced on the armrests. He was sharply aware of the Vulcan beside him, exponentially grateful for his presence. He swallowed hard, his eyes glued to the massive window before him.

The fatigue in Spock’s muscles hardly bothered him. A few hours ago, he felt he couldn’t stand for hardly more than 20 minutes. Now his anticipation kept him tall, the veiled memory of his past pain attempting to overcome his thoughts. He kept his spine straight, refusing to buckle to his mind’s tricks. The perception that his life’s end may be nearing briefly crossed his mind, but he pushed it aside. He had once predicted that when Death came for him, he would accept it quite logically. If it were unavoidable, how can there be any version of regret? This was somehow different, however, as the suspense was not something he had considered. 

It did not matter, as his life was hardly comparable to the Enterprise’s. That, and he was quite confident in Engineer Scott’s hypothesis. Do not fear what is unlikely. He watched the distant stars in the view screen streak across the blackness as the ship turned. Any course they were previously traversing was now gone. He inhaled deeply, and released…waiting.


	10. A Prerequisite Risk

The entire bridge sat in anticipation, awaiting either something horrific or something static. Hearts beating rapidly in chests, palms sweating, eyes focused wholly on the view screen. Would their first officer be invisibly murdered? Would they all be invisibly murdered? Would the control panels erupt in flames and the Enterprise swallowed into a desolate demise with no one as witness? 

Before long, they found themselves to have been sitting intensely for 20 minutes, each second ticking by like an hour. Then an additional 10 minutes passed. Soon, 40 minutes slugged by without event. McCoy eventually became tired of staring at Spock and checking his micro expressions for any sign of distress. His immediate concern dwindled, and he accepted the danger of Spock’s death being immediate had passed. The question now lied in if the danger still existed, but in longer terms. 

Kirk took his eyes off the stars and looked up to his first officer, sitting at his science station. Spock was unable to stand any longer, but in masking and in truth, he told the captain he had the curiosity of studying the cosmic dust they’d been passing. Spock met his gaze and replied with a small shake of his head: nothing. The captain gave a nod and slowly blinked his eyes back to the glass. The skin under his eyes felt heavy and exhaustion took the place of adrenaline. He hadn’t slept since the day before the encounter, which would make him conscious for almost 46 hours. The thickness of his zigzagging emotions had torn at his energy. The three hours that soon passed occurred as a hazy blur, each moment melting together. Time did not seem to be relative, as all Kirk could focus on was getting _away_ , _away, away_ without the sound of his friend’s body hitting the deck. 

McCoy finally took to poking around the bridge, humming his scanner over the officers’ heads and peering at their complexion questionably. As satisfied as he could be with the results, he strolled back to Kirk while observing him out of the corner of his eye.

“You need to eat and you need to sleep, Jim,” he said as he leaned against the chair, just loud enough for Kirk to hear. 

“Me? Why don’t you say that to the Vulcan behind me?” he whispered back.

“He’s been awake for nine hours…you’ve been awake for far longer than that. And I need him conscious and ticking; more accurate observation.”

“Well, I will. I need to wait until we’ve put more distance between us and that star cluster.”

“It’s been hours, Jim. There’s distance. If something would have happened, it would have happened already. It’s not over yet, but it’s over for now. And you need to be ready for when later comes. Come on.” He motioned with his head towards the lift. Kirk wiped his face and looked back to Spock. The Vulcan, unwillingly hearing their conversation but not letting on he could, sensed the captain’s glance. He looked back to him.

“You don’t…feel anything?” 

“No.”

It was no surprise, as Spock had convinced himself that the speculations they’d made were logical. He did not feel anything because, logically, he was no longer a target. Perhaps he would have felt relief at the lack of any type of anguish, but relief can be only defined when you anticipate the opposite of the occurring. 

“He’ll have the conn for now, Jim,” pressed McCoy gently. “Let’s go.”

“Alright, alright.” He stood from his chair. McCoy followed him to the turbo lift, somewhat doubting Kirk’s ability to follow his medical orders. Sometimes McCoy questioned if Kirk’s mind was human, as he had the inexplicable ability to curb outbursts while harvesting strength, but the man’s body _was._

“I’m gonna give you a hypo to help you sleep,” stated McCoy as the door closed.

“No, that’s alright, Bones. I feel pretty tired, I won’t need help.”

“Yes, you will. The mind explores dangerous things when it wishes for quiet. And I’m going to make you eat a sandwich and some fruit, no, don’t argue with me.” He held a finger up. Kirk exhaled loudly. 

“You gotta stay up there, Bones. Keep an eye on him. I don’t need an escort.” McCoy braced himself on the railing as the turbolift landed, his body barely swaying in it’s stopped momentum. 

“I have every intention to, Jim. He’s alright for a few minutes. He’s got more than just you and I watching out for him.”

Kirk was ordered to go straight to his quarters while McCoy fetched his hypo and meal, snagging a second sandwich for himself. He looked at the bread and it’s contents, his stomach protesting the look of it. He pursed his lips with disdain as he took it anyway. He himself hadn’t eaten much, but seeing as he had babysitting duty for the Vulcan, he knew he was going to need all his strength. That Vulcan really knew how to test his limits. 

McCoy was going to bring up something to talk about over their meal, to attempt to give Kirk a sense of calmness as they sat at the small table in his quarters. He knew his friend was overloaded with difficulties, and McCoy rather disliked him having to be in these unfair situations. But as the time came, he found nothing of interest and they ate silently. 

“Alright,” he said as they finished, “unless I need you for some reason, I want you to sleep for six hours.” Kirk’s eyebrows shot up in protest, which the doctor was soon to shoot down.

“You need something like 12 hours, Jim, but the best I can do for you right now is six. So, six hours,” he said, an order that was a hybrid of gentle and command. He dug out his hypo and inserted it into Kirk’s shoulder. It hissed as it emptied itself into his blood.

“You need to call me if anything, _anything,_ happens,” implored Kirk as he laid back.

“Okay,” conceded McCoy, having no hidden intentions. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” The sedation began to take effect, Kirk’s mind slowing in it’s wake. 

“There are no bugs in space, Bones,” he muttered as sleep began to blanket over him. McCoy gave a modest smile.

“I guess being out here does have that one perk,” he mumbled, knowing his friend wouldn’t hear him. He softly ordered the lights to darkness, and Kirk fell into a vortex of unconscoiusness with no struggle. 

The doors closed behind McCoy, and he leaned himself against the wall, the hallway empty. A primal part of him was envious of Kirk’s sleep, wanting nothing more than to lie back and force his mind to shut up. He’d had something of a catnap, just before the green machine woke up, but it didn’t seem to have swayed his fatigue. He inhaled heavily and exhaled with a groan, pushing off the wall. A short break in a vacant corridor was all he could afford himself — he had half a Vulcan to supervise. 

He stood begrudging next to Spock, his arms crossed over his chest. Outwardly, he may have seemed like a bodyguard who took his job very seriously. In some ways, he supposed that’s exactly what he was. And dammit, he _did_ take his job very seriously.

Another solar hour passed, by which time Spock had recommissioned the sleep rotation for the bridge, relieving those who needed it most. Uhura began to walk past him to head to her quarters, but stopped, placing a soft hand on his shoulder with a relieved smile. Spock returned with a light, silent nod. He was admittedly a little uncomfortable with the entire bridge being acutely aware of him, however he found he could not dismiss it without appreciation. 

Time continued to pass, and McCoy continued to motion his scanner over Spock. It had become annoying to the Vulcan, for the doctor persistently harassed him about his condition. Eventually the headache that he had woken with returned, empowered by McCoy’s voice and his own exhaust. He attributed it with contempt to the doctor’s incessant hounding. 

Soon following, nausea slowly crept into his gut, spreading through his body like a liquid. Spock understood his body needed nutrition in the form of food, but he did not wish to eat. It was entirely illogical, as the intelligent thing to do would be to maintain strength. For Kirk and the ship’s sake. However, he surmised he would vomit if he consumed anything, so he accepted his decision. Water, however, may be less intimidating. He stood from the chair, thinking a short walk to fetch it could prove beneficial to his lethargy. 

The moment he was upright, the nausea skewered into his stomach and a swift wave of lightheadedness pooled in his brain. The room went black for a millisecond and he grabbed the captain’s chair as he staggered. As quickly as his senses were assaulted, the offense was gone. The room stood still, color returned to his vision, and the faint feeling vanished. He blinked it away and warily glanced around the bridge; nobody saw. Grateful of that fact, he took a step towards the lift, now needing the water more critically.

In a rare instance of surprise, a firm hand sprung out from beyond his awareness and grasped his forearm. It was McCoy’s, who’s alarmed gaze had been trained on him the entire time. He had fear in his eyes.

“I am alright, Doctor,” Spock said quietly. Knowing the Vulcan’s arbitrary need for privacy, McCoy tailed him to the turbolift and forced the door closed.

“Like hell you are!” he hissed, looking him up and down. “You looked like you were about to pass out!” 

“I understand how it may have seemed, McCoy, but I do not find it concerning. You know as well as I do that my circumstances given yesterday’s events are undesirable, and I have not consumed anything since that time. I do not believe we should find it as evidence to the alien’s threats, as sensibly it is a natural reaction to…this ordeal.”

McCoy exhaled heavily and took a step back from Spock. For nothing to have happened for hours, and then for the Vulcan to suddenly falter…

He’d been roaming his eyes around the back of the officer’s heads when he noticed the Vulcan stand, and his curiosity for the action had quickly been replaced by horror. The Vulcan must have forgotten that McCoy was standing behind the chair, as McCoy saw him hesitate and then continue to move as if there wasn’t a man of medicine right there. His lack of perception was disturbing to the doctor. 

“Maybe, Spock, but maybe not. We’re gonna get some substance in you, and sleep, NO! Don’t you dare argue with me, you goddamned dusty sack of beans! Why does everyone want to argue with me? AND SLEEP, and we’ll see how you are from there.”

There was a small beep from the turbolift, reminding it’s occupants they needed to pick a deck. Bothered, Spock glanced up at it and shifted his stance, debating on if the doctor’s words were worth battling.

“You relayed to Captain Kirk yourself that you wished me awake, ‘for observation’. That, and he is sleeping. I cannot also do so with no replacement.”

“Yeah, humans do this thing called lying, Spock, which is what I did with Kirk so he would worry about himself. You could be awake or you could be knocked dead by five different hypos, and I’d observe you just dandy either way. He’s gonna be awake in less than two hours, Spock. Sulu can manage that. He’s been in command in some nasty red-alert situations before, he’s capable.” The Vulcan could spew as much logic as he wished upon McCoy, but he wasn’t going to budge this time. Spock opened his mouth to protest, and McCoy regarded him dangerously.

“I will cut your tongue out,” he said cooly, a layer of truth laced in his words. Spock clenched his jaw and looked up to the ceiling, annoyed. Eyes still on the panels above him, Spock detached his communicator from his hip.

“Spock to Sulu.”

“Go ahead.”

“You have the conn, temporarily.”

“…yes, sir.”

He clicked it shut and looked to McCoy, expecting him to be satisfied. McCoy gave a curt nod and promptly directed the turbolift to sickbay.

“Doctor McCoy, I thought we agreed I would eat and rest,” Spock objected, an edge to his voice.

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll be doing that too. But I never got that check up I was promised after Kirk took you out of sickbay. So, we’re doing that right now.” He smiled at him. Spock shook his head and looked away from the doctor; there was no point in arguing. The lift landed and they exited, Spock beginning to feel the nip of irritation. It was an emotion he did not like to recognize. 

McCoy discreetly peered at the Vulcan, who seemed to be walking straight. His face was a wall of stone.

“Your silence is making me nervous,” he finally said. “Some days, I feel like I have hard time getting you to stop chewing my ear off.” He continued to look sideways to the Vulcan, but his gaze wasn’t met.

“I am tired, Doctor,” Spock answered simply. “I do not wish to exert my energy wasting words with you.”

McCoy scoffed and even smiled, turning his head back to the front. A few days ago, a statement like that would have gotten the doctor hot and bothered. Today it seemed to be somehow welcome.

“Fair enough.”

The sickbay was becoming something of an abyss to Spock. He’d had his fill of the white walls and incriminating medical needles. He suppressed his sigh as he lied back on the biobed. The monitor beeped to life. 

“K3 levels look good,” McCoy noted as he waved his reader. “K1…needs improvement. Food will help that. How’s that headache?” He looked down to Spock. He impishly wanted to see if the Vulcan would be honest this time. The Vulcan pressed his lips together.

“Still present,” he said shortly. McCoy hovered the scanner near his temples, the quiet humming aggravating the dull pain.

“Yes it is…” McCoy mumbled to himself, chewing the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t very fond of that headache’s presence. Vulcan’s rarely experienced such things, half human or otherwise.

“I can give you a hypo,” he offered as the scanner dropped to his side.

“No,” Spock replied, unvarnished.

“It will help, Spock.”

“No, Doctor, what it will do is make me ill. I am already in a weakened state, those voodoo sprays can do nothing beneficial for me.” He sat up and lifted himself from the bed, fending a small bout of dizziness. “In fact, at this moment, I would prefer to rest. That is what may effectively aid me.”

“Alright,” conceded McCoy, looking back to the monitor. There wasn’t anything alarming on the screen. Exhaustion, hunger, fatigue. A few wavelengths that indicated nausea. All to be expected. 

“But you need to _sleep_ , Spock. No meditating. Sleep.”

“That is my intention, Doctor.”

McCoy nodded and looked over to the room Spock occupied several hours ago, then looked back to him. Spock stared at him.

“I have no desire to sleep here, McCoy.”

“How am I supposed to keep an eye on you?”

“At the moment, I do not believe that is necessary.”

“Oh, my God, Spock.” McCoy rubbed his face with his hands, clenching his eyes shut. “You are single handedly the worst patient I have ever treated.” His voice was tired, tense. Spock cocked his head, observing the man. He himself did not seem to be the only one in need of rest.

“Look, if you want to sleep in your quarters, take a micro-monitor with you,” McCoy said, his eyes still squeezed shut. He dropped his hands and then looked up at him. “I just want to keep an eye on your heart rate. So take one.” He waved him off with one hand and used the other to massage his temples. Spock stared at him for a beat and willingly left the room, collecting a micro-monitor from the cabinets as he exited. 

It was a small device, designed for medical staff to continue minor observations on patients who were not in immediate view. It generated small, thin strips which the patient could wrap around two separate fingers; this allowed the device to detect heart rates and blood pressure and relay it in realtime back to the staff. McCoy was unwilling to allow Spock the freedom to do as he wished concerning his recovery, however the doctor was more at ease knowing he had one with him. 

Spock walked down the corridor, his legs heavy. The tease of sleep tugged at his mind. How was it so that he was so exhausted, after waking up less than half a day ago? As a Vulcan, he could go without sleep for a substantial amount of time, if needed. Now the need for it threatened to drown all other senses. He hardly recalled the route he took to arrive to his quarters, he only recognized that he was suddenly there.

He tugged his black rest shirt on, his mind receding to a dull roar. It had been racing, active, since he woke to Nurse Chapel’s questions. He’d been keeping intense attention to every turn, every point in which this journey had taken he and his ship. Now it was reeling down, draining of it’s distractions. His mind drifted from that which he was forced to pay mind to, to things in which he was formerly too busy to focus upon. The unnerving faulting of the lights on the bridge. Malign wires ensnaring his legs with magnificent force, pain in which he’d never fathomed. His arms. Around his jaw. The clarity of all the pressure, agony, suffocation beginning to wane in tandem with his consciousness. 

He blinked and shook his head sharply, chasing the memory away. It was not something he could stand to recall with his usual detachment. He did not notice his left hand was trembling.

He took a long breath in, and closed his eyes as he exhaled. There was nothing left of it but the headache. It is illogical to dwell on that which is gone.

He eagerly climbed into his bed, his muscles crying out for relief. He stared at the ceiling as he fought between the want for sleep and the want to never close his eyes. The prior soon became inevitable, and he welcomed the ease with which he seemed to fall into it. He was barely conscious of the strips round his fingertips, his head drooping to the pillow as blackness rolled over him.

It is illogical to dwell on that which is gone.


	11. Flaming Yuk-eshu'a

He kneeled down, his knee resting on the blood orange dirt. He grasped a handful, the texture rough against his palm, and watched as it filtered down between his fingers. He was not sure which planet he was on.

Spock looked around, his hand stained a chalky orange. The sky was dark and impending, a stark contrast to the highly saturated ground he was upon. Ranges of massive mountains lined the horizon. It would have reminded him of Vulcan, but Vulcan was warm and welcoming. A peaceful planet. This planet, though no on seemed to be in sight, caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand. The dark clouds loomed overhead, churning thick matter into themselves. They were like a prophecy for this place he’d found himself. 

Far away in the distance, Spock heard something. A _whoosh_ ing sound, the sound of something soaring through the air. His heart started racing as his eyes flicked across the horizon, trying and failing to locate the object. Whatever it was, it went against every finger of his being. Wind began to blow against his hair.

The noise became louder, vibrating the airwaves that filled the atmosphere. He spun around, searching; it must be _somewhere. What was it?_ The mountains blurred together as he whipped to every side, every horizon, his eyes needing to lock onto the mysterious article. 

The noise roared into a deafening sound, the pitch climbing, assaulting his ears. The current of air became relentless as it thwacked at his clothes and hair. It carried the noise of something nearing him, _rapidly._

He bent down to the ground, curling into himself as he wrapped his hands over his head. The noise was thunderous. It surrounded him, it was everywhere, it was clawing at his ears. He couldn’t hear his own voice as he yelled out against the wind, burying his head into his chest. 

Something swift and heavy hit the back of his shoulder, hard. His body lurched to the ground. Pain exploded from his left shoulder, sending waves of shock through the rest of his body. He struggled against the striking wind, trying to regain his focus as he pushed off the reddish-yellow dirt. He was only aware of the violent throbbing in his shoulder and the howling wind in his ears. The screaming noise was no longer in the air. He tilted his head up and looked to the sky, the wind flinging dust into his eyes. His body tensed against it, fighting to stay tall.

He saw something between the massive, menacing clouds…his eyes widened. It was right there; the Enterprise. Muscle memory caused him to immediately pat his hip, expecting there to be a communicator which he would use for one of two reasons. _Beam me up,_ or _get yourselves out of here, get far away._ He was not sure which he was about to say. But his hand, reaching for the device, landed on nothing but cloth. He jerked his head down and saw he was wearing the Vulcan robe of Kolinahr, a ritual he had, against his father’s wishes, not taken part in.

The screeching of that inescapable sound suddenly shot back through the wind, coming upon him within seconds, and another attacking object nailed his left collarbone. He was thrown backwards, his back slamming into the ground. Dried dirt billowed out from under his body. Breath escaped his lungs and anguish rocked his senses. He gasped and wrestled against the dirt, his eyes searching, but he found no evidence that anything had hit him. He staggered to his feet, jolts of pain shooting down his spine. He looked up just as he saw an explosion erupt from the hull of the Enterprise.

“NO!” he yelled out against the wind, outstretching a hand to the lost ship. He fell back to his knees as something invisibly rammed into his ribcage, another white wave of pain ricocheting his skeleton. He hunched over into himself as the pain suffocated his thoughts. His eyes went back up to the sky, hopelessly, as another explosion ripped apart the bridge and snaked to the core of the ship. Against the screams of his body, he stumbled back to his feet and ran. His limbs threatened to topple him back over in the pain. However he continued to run, as if he could aimlessly stop the onslaught of his ship. There was a crash against the base of his spine, and something else snapped across his jaw. He dropped to the ground, sand digging into his cheek. The distant rumble of surging explosions echoed from the heavens, and his blurred vision caught the line of eruptions ripping the starship apart until it was nothing but a fireball, falling gracefully into the atmosphere. 

His body jolted upright, sweat plastering his shirt to his skin. His lungs gasped violently for air, the image as clear as physics itself. Dim floorlights lined the far side of his room, giving soft shadows to the wall. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, the pulse of his blood thudding painfully in his ears. There was not a time he could recall his heart beating so quickly. A bead of sweat ran down his face as his chest heaved, unable to control his forced breath. He blinked several times, utterly confused of his surroundings. He was just on…some strange planet. The ship was obliterated in flame. His fingers rubbed against his palm, swearing the cuts of the sand were still there. The pain had felt so real.

No. He leaned against the wall behind his bed, closing his eyes to focus the control of his clawing lungs. He placed a hand over his side as his heart continued to strike out, as if it was fighting to leave his body. _You are on the Enterprise. You are on the Enterprise._ He brought his fingers up to his temples and tightly clenched his eyes shut. _It was not real. It was a fabricated reality. Not real._

He needed to get out of that bed, he needed to stand, to breath. He could not control his heart nor his breathing. He swung his legs over and tried to stand, but he fell to the floor in a heap of shock and sweat. His muscles no longer obeyed him as he tried to push himself to all fours.

There was a brief moment of loud pounding on the door; someone was screaming his name. The sounds of buttons being pushed. Medical override. 

McCoy burst through the door, practically kicking it open in his haste. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and horror overcame him. Spock was hunched over on his hands and knees, breathing far too heavily. The doctor crossed the room in seconds and dropped to his knees, grabbing Spock’s shoulders as fear gripped his mind.

“What’s wrong, Spock? Spock, I need you to tell me what happened! SPOCK!”

Spock blinked against the haze of confusion that still lingered in his mind. He grabbed onto McCoy’s forearm as the doctor forced him to sit back against the side of the bed.

“Doctor—“ he tried, but his voice was lost in his throat. The man was still shouting at him. “Doctor, it’s alright.”

“Alright?! Your heart rate is dangerously high, Spock! What’s going on? You gotta talk to me, man!” McCoy could see the sheen of sweat on the Vulcan’s skin. He shook his shoulders, repeating his questions. It was clear the Vulcan was in some kind of daze, and he’d be damned if he couldn’t break it.

“Doctor McCoy, it is alright,” Spock repeated between breaths. “It was only…” He swallowed as the vivid dream crept into the front of his mind. “It was only a night terror.”

“What?” McCoy’s voice was forced, disbelieved, as he muttered to himself. He looked at the Vulcan’s face, who’s eyes were unfocused and looking to the ground. Spock only nodded, trying as he could to breath more smoothly. 

“Christ…” grumbled the doctor. He rummaged through the small bag at his feet and pulled out a hypo, immediately pressing it into the Vulcan’s neck. Spock leaned back further, attempting to think of tactical breathing as he endeavored to calm himself. 

“A hypo, McCoy…?” he managed.

“I need to get your heart rate under control, Spock. It’s worth you feeling a little nauseous.”

He picked up Spock’s wrist and held it, silently counting his heartbeat. Normally Spock would have shot daggers to the doctor for the unwarranted contact, but he was too distracted to hardly notice. After several moments, McCoy was satisfied for the rate it had settled into and released his wrist. He put his hands on his knees and stared at Spock. McCoy needed to get his own heart under control; it had been thumping like crazy since his emergency pager had begun screaming.

Spock did not wish for McCoy to be witnessing him in this position of vulnerability, however he realized it was far too late for that now. He exhaled through his nose, gladly noticing his lungs had stopped burning. He kept his eyes on the wall as his chest further loosened and his breathing came easier.

“Spock?”

Spock slowly moved his eyes away from the wall so they met those of McCoy’s. McCoy was exceptionally disquieted about this situation. This was highly, highly unusual behavior of a Vulcan. It was even more disturbing given the circumstances. The threats from the alien bounced around McCoy’s head.

“What was the dream?”

Spock looked away from him again. His fear of the dream had not vanished. It was lingering inside him, permeating, but he would not allow his face to betray this. He held, a statue. McCoy shook his head, disappointment stewing his insides.

“I should have given you a sedative to help you sleep, I just didn’t think you would — dammit, I should have known better.”

“No, McCoy, I would have denied that as well. It’s…it is just cause and effect, Doctor. Our position the last few days has been abnormal, I believe it is fair to assume anyone may experience night terrors over it.” He took another deep breath, feeling himself regain a normal level. He did not wish to admit to the doctor he had been disturbed enough to have a night terror, however there was no gain in avoiding the truth.

“This was not an average nightmare, Spock. Your heart rate was almost at 320 beats per minute, I thought your heart was going to fail!” he said with emphasis, needing Spock to realize what just happened. Spock was indeed taken aback by the number, however when unprotected, he knew a mind could do dangerous things to a physical body. 

“Does this feel like something that has to do with what that alien said?”

Spock shook his head. “I do not know. I believe it is too soon to accurately speculate.”

“If that’s what this is, it’s going to get much worse,” McCoy said quietly. 

“It is only the first night, McCoy, and I am in no danger. I ask you to not tell the captain.”

“What?! Are you kidding me, Spock? Do you have any idea how much he cares about you? For Pete’s sake, you —“

“Doctor McCoy, it is for that reason that you must not tell him,” Spock urged. “If you articulate what happened, he will reverse course of this ship and return us to the path of the star cluster.” He braced his palm up on the mattress and pushed, getting his feet to stand. McCoy rose with him, keeping a steady grip on his arm.

“He already told you, Spock, he’s not giving in to what that bastard wants, you don’t have to keep worrying about that.”

“I understand that, however the human in him cannot bring himself to watch me die. He would take action to prevent that, including turning the Enterprise around, until he could think of an alternative plan. An alternative plan of which there is none. We must press forward, no matter the consequences. Speculate an alternative plan, perhaps, but not on the course back towards the cluster and specifically the moon.”

“If this continues, if that’s what this is, there has to be a point where he finds out.”

“It is not my wish to keep information from him. I only ask you keep this…what happened tonight, I would like it to be confidential. Between you and I, Doctor McCoy.”

McCoy shook his head; unbelievable. He had sprinted to Spock’s quarters, finding him on the floor, breathing like he’d just raced time itself. None of it rang well with the doctor. 

“What that thing said…it keeps replaying in my head, Spock. I just keep coming back to the conclusion that this has to be related to it. The stumble on the bridge, now this…maybe you were wrong, Spock. Maybe the alien wasn’t lying about it’s abilities.” He bore his eyes into Spock’s, his brow furrowed in concern and apprehension. Spock did not return the emotions.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asked instead. McCoy shifted his stance and ran a hand through his hair.

“Three hours. Jim’s back on the bridge now, doing better now that he’s slept and eaten. HEY!” He snapped his fingers and stared accusingly at Spock, something the Vulcan noticed he did more frequently as of late. “Did you eat something after you left sickbay? Like I told you to?”

Spock mentally prepared himself for the inevitable lecture. He simply wished to don his uniform and return to work, he did not want to deal with this. 

“The energy I was in possession of was only enough to bring me to my quarters. I had no desire to eat.”

“Oh my—“ McCoy spun around and walked a few steps away from the Vulcan, needing to distance himself before he punched him. “I specifically told you that you needed to eat. You may be Vulcan, Spock, but you’re also human. You can’t deny your body of nutrients, especially at a time like this! What were you thinking? Aren’t you a man of logic?”

Spock exhaled and sat on the top of his bed, unable to ignore his muscles any longer.

“I was confident I would become ill if I were to eat anything,” he explained calmly. McCoy tapped his medical scanner against his palm, frustrated. He looked the Vulcan up and down in the dim light.

“Lights, 50%.” The lights grew to a soft glow. Spock blinked his eyes in adjustment, wondering what tricks the doctor was after. In an answer to the question, he noticed the doctor quite obviously and meticulously studying him.

“If I may be inclined to say so, your staring may be more productive at a different time,” he said, the sarcasm thinly veiled. 

“You look like hell, Spock. You look like total shit.”

Spock raised his eyebrow and led his eyes away towards the wall. _I suppose that is an accurate description for how I feel, too,_ a human part of him thought.

“You probably feel like shit, too,” continued McCoy. Now Spock raised both eyebrows, as it seemed the doctor could read minds.

“I’m the chief medical officer, Spock. I’ve been doing this for over a decade. I started off studying under Kurt Bo’yenga. Did I ever tell you that? Kurt. Fucking. Bo’yenga. I once performed emergency surgery on a Hyvoqridicalian in the middle of bum fuck J’uSusuli.” 

Spock furrowed his brow, heavily confused at the term of ‘bum fuck’, and at the point of this sermon.

“My point is, Spock, I know what I’m doing. I know what’s good for you. You do not. I do. You know nothing, I know everything, _let me do my job.”_ His intonation expressed agitation, but his face was shaped in that of worry. Spock wanted to correct him on the fact that no, he did not ‘know nothing’, but he felt too tired. He noted with disdain that the word ‘feel’ was coming into his observations far more often than usual.

“What is it you want from me, Doctor?”

“I want you to take care of yourself. You’re body has gone through enough, you’re not doin’ yourself any favors by skipping meals.”

“Logical conclusion, Doctor. I shall see to that tomorrow.” Spock truly wished for the doctor’s departure. He was not lying, as he could not do so, and he _would_ attempt to consume something. However at the present moment, solitude was his only desperate need. 

McCoy regarded him suspiciously, knowing the lathering it normally took for the Vulcan to ever agree with him, but figured it was something to revisit after Spock had some real rest. 

“And you need to sleep the rest of the night. And if you try to argue against that after what I just saw, then you will be the most vapid man I’ll have ever met. So don’t argue with me. I’m gonna give you a sedative that will put you out and release chemicals to ease your nerves. No nightmares. Go it?”

“Yes, Doctor McCoy,” Spock answered flatly. 

“Great.”

He gave him the sedative, ignoring the subtle look of betrayal on Spock’s face. He didn’t have a choice, the damned Vulcan needed to sleep. A sense of deja vu flittered across McCoy’s mind as he was brought back to the memory of doing the same thing to Jim hours ago. The top two officers of a ship in a crisis, hardly able to stand on their own two feet; fantastic.

Well, Jim was standing. A prime example of following the doctor’s orders; eat your greens and get some rest, you’re gonna be alright. It worked out for the captain.

But Spock…it wasn’t quite the same story. _I can make him sleep and eat as much I want to, but…that may be completely pointless. I don’t know what good any of that can do for him anymore._


	12. An Inescapable Inevitable

Waking came to him slowly. He could feel the dull pain before he even opened his eyes.

It was based near his left collarbone, the discomfort being the thing to have woken him. Spock sluggishly blinked his eyes open, his drowsiness no doubt a side effect of those cursed hyposprays. He tried to think back on what he may have done to cause the soreness he now felt, however the pondering was replaced by a brutal wave of nausea and he leapt out of bed. Knees hitting the ground by the toilet, he barely arrived before he began to violently vomit into the basin. He clutched his torso and lurched back into the toilet, the expulsion containing hardly anything more than water and air. There was no control as he continually heaved, his lungs deprived of freely flowing air. The sort of pain that accompanies such an action was disdainfully transparent as his insides collapsed in on each other. The pressure in his head increased, the sound of his own heartbeat thudding in his ears. He desperately sprung out a free hand and braced it on the wall beside him, needing something, anything, to keep him upright.

Finally, the relief he’d been hoping for came and he fell back against the wall, a rush of air filing his body. He let his head fall back. His arms were shaking. He pressed them against his legs in attempt to halt the unwelcome quakes. The fight to catch his breath was quicker than it was the last night. 

Last night. The night terror. In realization, he sprung up a hand to his neck and counted his pulse; too fast. _Get under control,_ he demanded of himself. He closed his eyes and focused, finding the part of his mind in which he used to mediate. Inhale, exhale. _Get under control._ Truly, the only thing worse than vomiting again would be to have Doctor McCoy come crashing through the door with a bag of hypos and a mouth of sarcasm. 

Spock decidedly condemned those impractical, nauseating hyposprays. Naturally, McCoy and his single-minded practices had not bothered to consider the side-effects those repelling things had on him. Spock stored away a few freshly conceived counter-arguments for when the next inevitable altercation came. He took another deep breath, relishing the full feeling residing in his lungs. His pulse regained a safe speed. Relieved, he contemplated his situation.  

It was the multiple hypos and his lack of nutritional value that had caused him to be illl; it was logical. Physics and the Vulcan/human genome spelled it out themselves. He could not allow himself to become concerned until something abnormal occurred. Until then, he had a duty as the first officer of a ship in a very vulnerable situation. He ignored the protests of his muscles as he lifted himself off the floor.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Thanks, Bones,” Kirk muttered as he took a sip of the coffee his friend handed him.

“Figured you needed it.”

“Yes, well, I think you might too.”

The last several hours had consisted of the captain sitting tensely in his chair on the bridge, scanning over random reports, data, anything that may give way to a clue they hadn’t before seen. It was futile. Nothing was known of this sector of space, nothing was known of these aliens, nothing was known of _anything._ After coming upon no other information and on the verge of pulling his own hair out, Kirk agreed to McCoy’s coercing of a break. They were alone in this small recreation room, a few muffled voices of crewman echoing down from the hall.

“So, he’s sleeping now?”

“Yup. Probably won’t be long now, though. I gave him a hy—” McCoy caught himself in the almost telling sentence as he recalled the night prior. He ground his teeth as he recovered. “…the hypo I gave him, before he went to sleep, probably’ll wear off soon.”

Kirk let loose a small smile and took another sip. “He let you give him a hypo? I’m surprised.”

“Yeah, well, I can be pretty persuasive sometimes.”

“Yes, you can be.” He chuckled. “So…nothing to report?” There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. The possibility of Spock continuing to be in lethal danger had been eating away at Kirk’s thoughts, his actions. He needed to hear it was over. McCoy gnawed on the bottom of his lip, his thumb digging into his coffee cup. He despised what Spock asked of him. But at this point of uncertainty between danger and normality, the Vulcan had a right to patient confidentiality. He could ignore Spock, tell his friend and his captain the truth. It’s what a part of him wanted to do.

“Nothing.” 

Kirk took in a deep breath, his relief obvious. “Maybe that means we got it right. Scotty was right.”

“Well, ya know, just, don’t get too excited yet,” Kirk’s smile began to fall, to which McCoy quickly added, “I just, I think we need more distance first.” Leaving Spock, the condition he was in, the way he was acting…it was disturbing to the doctor. Foreboding. This wasn’t over until Spock was back to the annoying, _not_ helpless Vulcan he was supposed to be.

“It’s been almost 12 hours since we varied from the course, and nothing’s happened to him. Don’t you think that’s enough time?” continued Kirk, pressing for the affirmative from his friend. This needed to be finished. They all needed a damn long shore leave and several rounds of Speglitic brandy.

“I—listen, Jim…I just have a feeling we need to keep on our toes a bit longer. I don’t know yet. I can’t say.” The doctor wrung his hands under the table. Kirk kept his gaze for a few moments before nodding.

“Right. You’re right. We can’t get ahead of ourselves. That’s always unwise. I’d just really like for this to be behind us,” he admitted with a laugh. McCoy replied with half a smile, his eyes becoming interested on a scratch on the table. Kirk tilted his head as he observed the man across from him.

“When was the last time you slept, Bones?” 

“At this point, I couldn’t even tell you.” He warmed his smile in assurance. “Why? Do I not look like a shining Georgia peach?”

“Oh, you’re a peach all right.” Kirk reached across the table and pulled the doctor’s coffee away from him. “Go sleep, Bones.”

“Don’t you know to never touch a southern man’s coffee?” 

“Don’t you know the captain of a starship can do whatever he wants?”

“Ha! Are your eyes brown? ‘Cause you’re full of shit.” 

“Well, my eyes aren’t brown.”

“I have a hypo to fix that.”

Kirk laughed. “Go sleep, Bones!” He shooed him away with his hands, harvesting the man’s coffee closer to his chest like a troll with a pebble. McCoy rolled his eyes and pushed off the table.

“You don’t want to play a game of chess, first?”

“You hate chess.”

“Damn right I do. And I was hoping you’d say yes so I could say no and leave you hanging like skivvies in the wind. Alright,” he stood and rubbed his eyes. “I guess sleep does sound somewhat appetizing. You know to wake me up if you need anything.”

“You already know I do.”

“Thanks, Jim. You’re a peach,” he winked. The doctor briefly glanced at the photographs and memorabilia hung on the walls and walked out from the room. Kirk sighed to himself, toying with the extra coffee in front of him. A selfish part of him had wanted McCoy to deny the sleep, to stay awake and nearby. His presence was an immense comfort to the captain, giving Kirk a constant reminder of ease in the wake of crippling anticipation. However, he knew McCoy was just as human as everyone else. 

Well, almost everyone else. He eyed the 3D chess board across the room, sitting isolated on a table. He almost began to think back on what had started this entire event but he shook his head, disallowing himself to do so. At the moment, things were peaceful. He had no desire to let a abhorring memory tarnish that.

He finished his coffee as he sat alone in the room. The quiet was welcome. So often as captain, everyone’s voices, their worries, found way to his ears and collectively filled his mind with business and calamity. Here, alone, there was no chaos but the noise of the vents.

Halfway down the corridor, McCoy stopped walking. His mind was pulling him back to Spock. Spock who nearly gave him a heart attack last night. Spock who nearly had _himself_ a heart attack last night. _You need to check on him,_ nagged the voice in his head. _You won’t sleep a wink otherwise._ He sighed dramatically in the empty corridor, the walls scolding him for his hesitation. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his PADD, expanding it and swiping to find Spock’s heart readings. 

He shook his head and placed a hand on his hip. The readings were not available. Not because the damned hobgoblin had conked, but because the damned hobgoblin had removed the sensor strips. He was awake, likely walkin’ round like a moron. McCoy growled and turned left towards the lift. Something was telling him the Vulcan was already on the bridge. 

The man’s gut was always right. The second he walked past the entryway, his eyes locked onto the back of Spock’s head. He was leaning over Uhura’s station, discussing something with her, his hands gesturing over her controls in explanation. Well, not for long.

“Spock,” called McCoy. The Vulcan turned at the mention of his name. To Spock’s dismay, McCoy motioned over with his head.

“Doctor,” he acknowledged as he walked up to him. McCoy squinted his eyes and studied him, searching for any signs of a restless night. His skin seemed a little paler than before…

“How do you feel?”

“That denotes that I can ‘feel’, doctor, and you are aware I do not.”

“I’m not talking about your damned repressed emotions, Spock, I’m insinuating towards your physical health!”

“In that case, adequately more rested, thank you.”

“I want another checkup.”

“Doctor, you saw me four hours ago,” he argued in a low voice. These checkups seemed to be borderline harassment. McCoy raised his eyebrows at him expectantly. He knew his requests of Spock were completely justified.

“Meester Spock,” interjected Chekov. Spock tilted his ear towards the young man.

“Zere is a small field of debris bearing point zero sefen,” he continued calmly. “It vould appear to be from a small asteroid collision.” A normal and un-worrisome obstacle. 

“Evasive maneuvers, Mister Chekov. Sulu, do not lose our course.”

“Aye aye, Commander,” obliged Sulu. Spock looked back to the doctor.

“I am better served on the bridge than useless in your medical room, Doctor McCoy. I assure you, I will alert you to anything concerning.” The ache of his shoulder suddenly registered in his mind, as did the knowledge that is was somewhat bizarre. He watched the doctor walk away huffily, and he opened his mouth to notify him of the fact, but Uhura’s voice had him lose his own.

“Commander, the debris is distorting my channels. There must be some kind of magnetic field to it,” she said uneasily. McCoy disappeared from view and Spock strode to her station to investigate the claim. It was a rather rare occurrence, however he had a similar problem on a mission with Captain Pike years ago. Simple solution.

“Embed photon particles into the ship’s shields at a speed of .678431 wave crests per second. Reverse the electric currents below the engineering deck.” 

She blinked and looked up at him, dissecting what he just asked of her. She’d never been asked to manually customize the make-up of the shields, let alone at such a precise rate. However, she could never doubt her Commander’s logic and intellect, and did as was asked. She put a hand up to her earpiece and looked incredulously at Spock.

“It worked, Mr. Spock,” she said, astonished. 

“I had experienced it before, Lieutenant. Now you have as well, and can impress your crew in the future where it will inevitably happen again. Sulu, report.”

“We’re clear of the debris, Commander,” he answered with a smile. It seemed like the Enterprise had their Vulcan back.

“I’d say I’m impressed myself, but really, I’m not surprised.” Spock turned around and locked eyes with Kirk. “I never read anything like that in Pike’s reports.”

“Captain Pike had a habit of excluding certain pieces of information due to forgetfulness. I had recorded it in a supplemental log.”

“I’m sure you did,” he turned his smile towards the helm. “Back on course, Mr. Sulu?”

“Yes sir, we are.”

“Good. Uhura, let’s make sure that goes in our records. Send a copy to Starfleet.”

“Yes sir.”

As the hours passed, the Enterprise ventured further into unexplored space. Stars and objects covering the view screen were not found on any Federation chart. As a welcome distraction from the prodding pain in his shoulder, Spock had set to mapping the unknown stars and inputing them into the Starfleet data banks.

The busier and more involved he became with his work, the easier it was to forget the pain was even there. He may have even convinced himself of it’s unimportance. But every once in a while, in his deepest concentration, it would flare up with a piercing slam and force. He’d succeed in keeping his grimace internal, but the facade would transfer to the shaking of his hands. It was becoming worse. The logical thing would be to pay the doctor a visit, and in a rare admittance, he willingly told himself he would. However, this advantage of charting new stars was remarkably fascinating and not something done often. This, and he too knew how little rest McCoy had received lately. He did not wish to wake him. He would wait until the man was voluntarily awake.

“Spock.” He was so engaged in his readings and studies, Spock hadn’t noticed the presence of Captain Kirk beside him. Odd. His awareness of surroundings were regularly accurate. He looked up.

“Let’s go get lunch,” suggested Kirk. Spock hesitated; his stomach was not prepared for such a thing.

“I am charting these stars, Captain.”

“That’s alright, Uhura’s pretty good at that. Uhura, take over the science station. Sulu, you’ve got the conn.”

They both affirmed his orders as Spock looked at him quizzically. Kirk scarcely took Spock away from his station in the middle of systematic activities. He stood and as obligated, followed his captain to the lift.

“Captain, I will admit I am not hungry,” he said as the lift began to move. 

“I have orders to make sure you eat, Spock,” he explained with an apologetic smile. _McCoy._ They must have made passing when the doctor departed the bridge earlier. Spock attempted to conceive an idea to evade this, to forgo the meal due to his ever present nausea, but nothing admissible came to him.

Curiously, Spock noticed his left hand was still shaking. The last flare of his shoulder had been 37 minutes ago…had it been trembling this whole time? It was coming upon uncontrollable. He wished to look down and inspect it, wondering what it’s presence meant. Perhaps he should wake McCoy…

“Why is he making sure I have you eat, Spock?” asked Kirk as the door opened. He led them out towards the canteen, Spock walking carefully a step behind him. He was beginning to recognize his severe dislike for the seemingly entire bridge displaying their concern towards him. 

“I can only assume it is because I refused to do so yesterday.” There was no point in masking the truth.

“Right, he told me that. I think he’s worried about you, and I’ll admit, that makes me worried about you too. Are you okay?”

“I am fine, Captain.” It was a statement he sometimes deployed to avoid a lie. He did not wish to obtrude anyone with his physical ailments, but if he must, he wished to keep that number singular; Doctor McCoy. They stopped walking and looked at each other. Kirk ran his eyes over Spock’s face. He seemed so tired. Always so tired. 

“But you’re still not gonna eat?” he asked. Spock sighed and briefly glanced down to the floor. The captain had the inexplicable ability to see through him, to understand what he was not saying.

“No, Jim. I cannot…not at this moment,” he answered, honest. Was this weakness? If it was, he did not wish to exude it to his friend. There was, however, no other alternative. Kirk pursed his lips and nodded.

“Alright, well. I’m not gonna make you do anything. And I’m trusting you to inform me if you’re doubting your health. So, I’m not going to think anything of it right now. But if you still can’t keep anything down by tomorrow…it’s not gonna be a good sign, Spock,” he cautioned, his voice serious. They each knew the unusualness of Spock’s sudden illness, as Vulcans and Spock himself were infrequently unwell. 

“I know, Jim. I too will accept an impending reason for this should it continue.” He indeed wished the pain and vertigo would vacate by the night. It was still logically acceptable for his symptoms to be attributed to the physical stress he endured, but should it persist after the day had passed…it would not longer be logical to assume such a thing.

“I think you should get some more rest. You seem…you look like you need rest.” Kirk did not want to directly order Spock back to his quarters, but his demeanor was atypical and he clearly was not in prime condition. Spock nodded, already knowing he could not return to his work after this conversation. 

“Yes, Captain.” Then…

_No…_

The tremor of pain that suddenly buried in his shoulder came upon him in less than half a second, it’s strength wholly blinding. Not a moment after he registered what happened, flaming agony erupted down his bones. Electric waves of pulsing pain spiked down his left shoulder, snaking into his elbow and causing everything else to go horribly numb. His vision blurred and he felt his body begin to sway. His consciousness leaked out from his mind as quickly as the attack had come upon him. He could not process the overwhelming and drowning torment wracking his body, obliterating anything that was once occupying his thoughts. His hearing and his vision were dipped in wax, black spots rippling at his sentience. His last subconscious feeling was that he wished it didn’t have to be Jim.

Kirk could see Spock’s eyes suddenly hollow and his skin flush a ghostly tone. His head dropped slowly backwards and his eyes slipped closed. He made no noise, gave no intonation of what his physical body was feeling. He just began to fall. Alarmed and instantly terrified, Kirk sprung forward and caught the falling Vulcan. The momentum of Spock’s dense bones pulled him down to the floor, but he locked his arms and kept Spock’s head from colliding with the floor. His face was completely still.

“Spock…! SPOCK!” His voice could not hide his panic. It was so incredibly sudden, Kirk barely knew what to think besides the fact that his greatest friend was laying static on the floor, unresponsive. 

“Spock! Come on, _Spock.”_ He shook his shoulders sharply. His skin felt like ice, it’s frigidness a jolt to Kirk’s hands. He shook him again, and as he did so, his palm barely adjusted Spock’s shirt so a part of his shoulder was visible. Kirk froze, his breathing hitched, as his eyes locked onto the newly shown skin. 

It was severely bruised, though Kirk knew the word bruise could not define what he was seeing. Harsh tones of purple and angry reds covered Spock’s skin, decorated with cobwebs of electric blue lines. Kirk ran a thumb over the blue markings; they were raised from the rest of his skin, like thread pasted to flesh. His eyes widened as he numbly moved Spock’s neckline down, seeing the density of the cobwebs collecting like a hive of insects above his collarbone. It seemed toxic, unnatural, deadly. 

This was not conventional. This was not a ‘symptom’, this was not explainable, this was not _logical_.

Kirk was wrong. It was happening.

They were killing him.


	13. The Pendulum Effect

Someone shook him a few times, but he was too submersed in abeyance to understand nor pay mind to it. An anvil of pressure feathered over his chest. Another shake. It was persistent.

He slowly opened his eyes to find himself staring at the ceiling. Was he on the floor? An angry pulse of pain stabbed through his collarbone and he sucked a sharp breath of air through his teeth. His mind cleared of the lost consciousness and he blinked to meet eyes with Kirk, who was staring at him in thinly veiled horror. The emotion in his friend’s gaze was chilling.

The captain flicked his eyes away from Spock’s to look back at the incriminating markings on his shoulder. Kirk had suppressed his terror as he watched Spock open his eyes; _he’s alive._ But studying this thing on his body, knowing what it meant…

“Have you seen this?” he asked, failing to keep his voice from shaking. 

“Seen what, Captain?” Spock strained, confused. He was perturbed by Jim’s despairing demeanor and by the fact that they were both on the floor, but then he involuntarily grimaced as another wave cut past his shoulder. Kirk left his question in the dust and immediately whipped out his communicator. 

“Kirk to McCoy.”

McCoy, dead asleep in his quarters, shot his eyes open at the voice coming from his communicator. He swung his arm around and slammed it against the dresser, his hands searching hastily in the dark for the device.

“What is it, Jim?” he spluttered, his mind far more awake than his body.

“It’s Spock.” The captain’s voice broke on the name. McCoy flung himself out of the bed and ran out towards the door, hopping on one leg as he tugged his boots on.

After telling the doctor where to find them, Kirk quickly stuffed the communicator away. He gently pulled Spock’s neckline down again to inspect the violent looking skin. It was as if this toxic image was a text, spelling out the demise of this man and the entire ship. They had been so deeply banking on it being a lie, that this had all been a lie…how could they even have a prayer now?

“Jim…”

“You passed out, Spock,” he explained, his eyes following the trails the blue markings left. “Your shoulder…it’s…I don’t even know.”

Spock rotated his head to see what his friend was referring to…was it an open wound? Could this be why it had been so painful for him throughout the day? His eyes caught sight of the swirling colors and the electric lines sneaking up towards his neck and his blood recoiled. He had never seen such a thing…how long had it been like this? His mind reached the conclusion that his captain had; this was absolutely unwelcome evidence of much worse things to come. His chest heaved and he looked back to the ceiling, clenching his fists together as another tremor quaked down his bones. 

“You’re in pain.” Jim could see it as clear as he could see the discovered abrasion. Spock nodded, his breath held as he waited for it to pass.

“We have to go back,” Jim whispered, his eyes serious. The anger and despair in his gut magnified.

“We can’t, Jim. Do not go back.” 

Before their differences could resurface, McCoy came barreling around the corner, his hair sticking up three different ways with a hand already in his pocket.

“What happened?!” he demanded as he fell beside them, whipping out his scanner and bringing it up to Spock’s head. He froze when he caught sight of what was lying beneath Kirk’s hovering hands. His jaw dropped open, his eyes widening in alarm. Those blue lines, graphing across the thick colors of a sunset almost slept, were piercing. 

“What the hell is that…” Any trace of sleep he missed was gone. His mind was awake, alert, and utterly blank. “Was that there when—?” He bit his tongue, almost forgetting the captain was right beside him, but the sharp man hadn’t missed a word.

“When what, McCoy?”

“I—“

“It was an unrelated event last night, Captain,” Spock said, his voice tense.

“Unrelated? What the hell happened last night?” he ordered, fury further rising in his blood. Spock lifted his left elbow to push himself up, understanding it was he who ought to clear this misunderstanding, but his entire arm exploded with pain and he fell back. Kirk and McCoy simultaneously put a hand on each of his shoulders, completely forgetting the topic.

“We gotta get him to sickbay,” asserted McCoy.

“Agreed. Come on.”

“Don’t touch that shoulder, Jim.”

Carefully, they lifted him so he was leaning against Kirk, his right arm draped over the captain’s shoulders and his left arm useless at his side.

“Can you walk?” asked Kirk, not entirely realizing how important the answer to that question was to him. 

“Yes.”

McCoy walked cautiously at his side, prepared to catch a falling Vulcan if needed. Spock endeavored to focus on his steps, but the weight of his left arm was playing against him. Every movement, every step, sent unsettling jolts down his arm and through the cavity of his chest. The prickling of paresthesia began to splotch against his nerves. A ripple of vertigo seized his mind, and the further they trekked towards medical, the more he felt confident in losing his consciousness again. 

Kirk felt Spock become more sluggish as they dragged down towards the room. It was just down the hall…

As the door labeled ‘Sickbay’ came into view, Kirk staggered as Spock lost his stability and dropped to his knees. McCoy tried to steady him as best he could, but it was clear from the way he was leaning against Kirk that he was not getting back up. Damn, his sickbay was _right there!_ He looked at the door, then twisted to look down at Spock, breathing heavily and shaking. McCoy’s eyes lingered for only a moment before he whipped back towards sickbay.

“CHAPEL! Get out here with a shot of asthenia epinephrine, _now!”_ he yelled, his voice bouncing off the walls. She sprinted out the doorway only moments later. McCoy reminded himself to praise her later for her gracing efficiency. She kept her professional mask steady as she glanced at Spock’s huffing figure, and reversed her sprint to prepare his biobed. Without hesitation, McCoy pushed the hypo into Spock’s side.

“Alright, you gotta get up, come on Spock,” commanded McCoy as he began to lift him. Whatever was in the shot he just received worked, and a small puddle of energy settled in his legs. His mind was beginning to falter again, but he walked forward with the two men. _It isn’t far…_

They breached the doorway and made their way to the corner room. Kirk rotated around and helped Spock lie back. Pressure released from his body as he was spared from walking, but his chest moved in short, staggered breaths. His lungs felt suddenly constricted. Spock swallowed and clenched his jaw, his frustrated glare shared only with the ceiling. There was no logical pattern to his condition and he could not predict how it would progress. The surprise of deterioration was maddening. This could not be the work of that alien, _it was not possible._ No being could surreptitiously control another being, as if they were the ever-argued omnipotent Creator. He felt a slice of pain jab into his collarbone, deep, and he clenched his eyes shut, refusing to believe that that creature was controlling him. It had to be something else, he can’t still be in the grasp of that being, _he can’t be_.

“Bones, what can you do?”

“I don’t know yet!” He and Chapel managed to cut his shirt off, the full of the would finally coming into view. It was matted down to the bottom of his ribcage, the blue markings licking down his left arm and snaking around his elbow, curving over to claw down towards his heart. His skin was such a powerful color, McCoy was doubting it was skin anymore.

“I need a blood sample, Spock,” apologized the doctor as Chapel handed him a needle. Spock merely nodded, keeping his concentration on the tiles above him. He no longer felt the tug of unconsciousness, but the tugging of his very bones. His hand twitched involuntarily as McCoy slid the needle into his vein.

“What happened last night, McCoy?” pressed Kirk as McCoy passed the green-filled needle to Chapel. Spock wanted to explain for the doctor, but another infuriating ridge of agony bolted into his scapula. He pressed his head back against the pillow and squeezed his fists, desperately trying to build a mental wall against the torture, but it rammed against his efforts. The K2 chart began shrieking.

Chapel leaned over Spock’s bed and immediately handed McCoy a hypo, who applied it in the Vulcan’s shoulder, but the alarms continued to scream. Spock was visibly fighting back, his entire body tense and rigid against the pain, his body beginning to brutally shake. He groaned against the pain, but it was lost in the noise of the alarms. A sheen of sweat was forming on his temples. McCoy quickly inserted another hypo, but nothing could breach past that which confined him. The hideous shrieks ringing from the monitor added to Kirk’s anxiety, completely helpless as one friend desperately tried to ease the other.

“I need to put him out,” he declared to Chapel as she ran to his side. She lunged a few feet behind them and threw open a drawer, her hands digging around rapidly and snatching one to throw to the doctor. He caught it and swiftly brought up to his eyes; Iophed’menta tv’Valliuniphor. The strongest he could safely give to the Vulcan. He instantly pressed it into Spock’s pale, clammy skin. Almost immediately, the muscles in Spock’s body slowly released and he sunk involuntarily into the bed. His fingers twitched as his eyes slipped closed. He fell limp and the alarms finally silenced.

McCoy could hear his own heavy, adrenaline based breaths in the acquired silence. Kirk put his hand on Spock’s lifeless forearm, staring at his ghastly face. Without looking away from the comatose Vulcan, he repeated his question.

“What happened last night?” he articulated through his teeth. McCoy dragged his gaze up to the captain’s. He then regarded Chapel and nodded at her, their silent language needing nothing more. She left her CMOs side and retreated to the main area.

“He had a nightmare…”

“A nightmare, McCoy?” he clarified angrily. McCoy realized confidentially was no longer a privilege, and he rubbed the back of his head as he looked into Kirk’s distressed eyes.

“Yes, he said it was a nightmare. But his heart rate was dangerously high, he was…it seemed as though it really affected him. Physically. But there was no sign of this on my scanner last night…”

“Bones…” Kirk grasped the bedrails tightly. “Why in God’s name didn’t you tell me that?”

McCoy swallowed and shook his head, wondering if he’d made a mistake. 

“He asked me not to, Jim. He has that right, as a patient. He thought you’d change your mind, that you’d go off and get those stones, if you knew. The nightmare, he thought it was just caused by temporary traumatic stress…I didn’t want to get ahead of myself or jump to any conclusions.”

“Well that mistake might’ve cost Spock his life,” shot Kirk as he flipped out his communicator. “We’re turning around, but it might be futile at this point.”

“Jim! That’s exactly why he didn’t want me to tell you! We can’t go back, Jim, for once I have to agree with Spock. We can’t go get those crystals, we can’t even put ourselves in that star cluster! Let me take a look at Spock, I can try and —“

“There’s no saving him from this, Bones! Either we turn around right now, or we get the privilege of watching him die! Which do you want to pick?!” he yelled back, his hand gesturing aggressively to Spock’s lifeless figure. “You obviously made your choice last night!”

“Now that’s not fair, Jim! I don’t want to see him die any less than you do! Now there was once a time where James Kirk didn’t believe in no win scenarios, and this is a doozy of a no win, Captain! There has to be a different option, something we haven’t considered!” 

“You’re right, McCoy, I don’t believe in no win scenarios. I’m not going to deliver those crystals like an obedient golden retriever does with a stick, and I’m sure as hell not going to watch Spock die in lieu of it! I don’t know exactly what we’re going to do yet, but I won’t let him suffer while I think about it. We’re going back, we are turning around, and maybe that goddamn _piece of shit_ can see that and give my first officer his life back. _Then,_ I will think of a plan where we come out on top. You read me?” His breaching fury bubbled into a glare and he lifted the communicator.

“Kirk to Sulu. Turn around right now, get us back to that star cluster. Warp factor 8.”

“…yes, Captain.”

He clicked it shut and pinned it back to his hip angrily. Leaning against the bedrails, he hung his head and took a deep breath. Both the tension and the erupting emotions of the two men were thick in the air. He tapped the top of his toes against the floor irately, aware that he needed to calm himself, that his outburst was unbecoming. His first officer often said that raw emotion would drown out reason, and at the moment, it was reason that was needed.

“I deliberately asked you to tell me if anything happened to him,” he said in a quiet, more pacified tone, his head still hung. McCoy looked down to his feet.

“It was important to him that I didn’t. You know what I’m talking about, Jim…you yourself take every word out of his mouth to heart. Once he says one of his damned logical statements, there’s no arguing with him. Sometimes I hate this goblin as much as I hate this black void, but…when he’s right, he’s right.”

Kirk pressed his lips together and sighed heavily, tapping his toes again against the tile. He brought his head up to look at the doctor.

“Bones, since when do you ever listen to a thing he says?” he asked as his features turned softer.

“Well I can promise you I never will again,” he muttered as he waved the scanner over Spock for the countless time. Kirk exhaled through his nose and placed his hand back on Spock’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know, Jim. I’m sorry, I wish I did. I’ve never seen anything like this. He _is_ dying,” Kirk tightened his grip, “but I can’t figure out why. His bone marrow looks fine, his organs are functioning…everything seems to go haywire when he’s in those attacks, but once he’s out of it, it all returns to absolutely normal. Listen, I don’t know what to think anymore. If we turn around, will he get better? Will it get worse, with time? And I have no inclination of what time means here. That blood sample is kind of my last hope.” He hovered his pointer over the raised lines jolting across Spock’s torso. “This…this design. It’s unnatural. There’s nothing of the Vulcan or human body that can cause this. It’s absolutely from some kind of outside factor.”

“The alien?” offered Kirk. McCoy shrugged.

“I don’t know what else. He was weak, but fine, while we were still on course. We get off course…well now he’s unconscious in one of my biobeds. It doesn’t seem possible, but here we are.”

Kirk nodded, his head clearing from his overbearing emotions. He’d never felt such unadulterated trepidation when he watched Spock collapse to the ground for the second time. A very real part of him had been convinced the Vulcan was already dead as he crashed down, completely unprovoked. 

“When will that anesthesia wear off?” he asked.

“For him, probably a couple of hours.”

“Call me immediately when that happens. I have a crew to make amends with.” He walked past McCoy and breached the doorway, but put his arms on the panels and stopped. He held for a moment and turned his head parallel with his shoulder, not quite looking back into the room.

“I’m sorry, Bones. For what I said. I never wanted to accuse you of this, I was just…frightened.”

McCoy opened his mouth to reply, but his throat felt too dry. He cleared it and nodded, keeping the rise of his emotions to himself.

“I know, Jim. Don’t worry about it.” 

He heard Kirk’s footsteps depart and echo across the sickbay, becoming quieter until he’d left altogether. He sunk into the nearby chair and held his head in his hands, fingers loosely gripping his hair. Anger, guilt, and disparity swirled together and separated, mixing in his mind and dragging across his heart. How many times would he have to face this Vulcan’s death? How much longer could he keep this up before he lost his mind? Chapel walked in silently and placed a soft palm on his shoulder. He reached up and placed his hand over hers.

“There’s nothing else you can do, Leonard.”

“That’s what’s bothering me.”

“It’s out of our hands.” She continued quietly. McCoy shook his head and patted her hand, then dropped it back down to his lap. 

“He was in trouble last night. And I had a bad feeling about it, despite him trying to tell me otherwise. I didn’t inform the captain, I didn’t act upon it…Kirk’s right, Christine. I may have killed him.”

“Leonard, what could you have done? What could the captain have done, had he known? We would have quarantined Spock to this very room, constantly observing him, until he stressed himself out and then in turn stressed you out. Whatever happened just now, it would have happened in that regard too.”

“Maybe if we did turn around sooner, this wouldn’t have had to happen.”

“Leonard, you know Spock better than I do. You know he’s one of the cleverest minds on this ship. He understood what that confidentiality meant, and he understood what continuing off that alien’s course meant.”

McCoy looked tiredly at Spock’s grey face, his head limp to the side. His eyelids were colorless, causing a deep contrast off the jarring color of his skin below the neck. Out of everyone on the bridge, all those bodies, why did it choose him? 

_Human beings…and…a Vulcan?_

“You can’t blame yourself, Leonard. Spock knew what keeping this from the captain meant. He knew what he was getting himself into.”

McCoy released a dismal laugh. “The problem is, that damn fool doesn’t know what’s good for him. His logic blinds any strive for survival.” He shook his head and rubbed his forehead.

“His very species, and he himself, are advocates for peace and for life. But for some reason, he can’t treat his own life with the logic he treats everyone else’s.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Kirk was met with the highly concerned faces of the bridge. They all knew, before a word left his mouth, that there was only one reason that they would be turning back towards that star cluster.

“Commander Spock?” ventured Uhura. Kirk just shook his head.

“Open the main channel, ship wide.”

“Receiving, sir.”

He cleared his throat and sat up in his chair. He looked at the faces around him, his friends, and wished their peril could be eradicated.

“Crew of the Enterprise…this is the captain speaking. We’re back on course for that star cluster, and inevitably the moon, as it’s been made apparent that this starship and her crew have been credibly threatened against. We’re fighters and there is absolutely no talk of obeying the demands of that alien race. However, to prevent the death of this ship and anyone aboard her, we will be making head to the cluster until a break is seen and we can act upon it. Previously quieted theories are welcome, and encouraged. Let’s fight this son-of-a-bitch. Kirk out.” He popped his fist against the transmitter.

“Is he dead, Captain?” dared Scotty with a tremor in his voice. Kirk bit his lip and shook his head.

“No, of course not. It takes a lot more than this to get rid of our Mister Spock. But,” his voice grew somewhat quieter, “he is incapacitated at the moment.” He looked down at his hands, thinking of how his friend’s skin had blanched before collapsing.

“Vatever it takes, Keptin,” avowed Chekov, speaking up in the silence. There was a fire in his eyes. The young ensign had a profound respect for the science officer, and though the idea of facing those aliens was incredibly frightening, nothing could justify a death. “Ven zey threaten one crew member, zey face the entire ship.”

“And the ship knows how to bite back,” Sulu finished, sharing his friend’s determination. 

Kirk looked to his left and to his right, meeting the eyes of every officer aboard the bridge. Their faces all mirrored what Chekov had said, and Kirk realized that he needn’t feel guilt at ordering their ship into danger. This ship, this crew, was prepared to offer every ounce of fight they had. His eyes landed on the empty spot of the science station. 

“And bite back we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're making a dent in the story! It's a rather long one, and re-writing the whole thing is quite a task. I have a much smaller audience this time round, as Trepidation was something of a hit and most people have already read the story, but a touch of feedback is always appreciated!   
> LLAP


	14. Morality and Mortality

“McCoy to Chapel.”

“Chapel here.”

“Where the hell are you?”

“I’m at hematology, Doctor. Like you asked me. Remember?”

“Oh, right…well, what did they say, then?”

“They’re saying they need another hour with the sample.”

“Well Jesus, what the hell are they doing with it? Taking it to dinner?”

“The data is rather obscure, Leonard. This isn’t exactly the kind of sample they test on a regular basis.”

“Well they better include the equation of interthermodynamic particles and gravity within a four-dimensional reality, since they’re taking so goddamn long. Alright. Fine. McCoy out.”

He slapped the communicator back down on the counter and glared at it. The Vulcan beside him was laying completely still, his face slack. The sight of Spock’s shoulder had strung up the doctor’s rage once more, surfacing with a vengeance and pulling at his mind. If only he could get his hands wrapped around that damned alien’s throat…

Exasperated of waiting and doing nothing helpful, McCoy plucked his magnifying PADD from the counter. He leaned over the unconscious Vulcan to meticulously inspect the markings inked into his skin. He edged his thumb over the startling blue threads, their erratic design over the left side of his torso making no pattern. McCoy had not had the mind to record their exact placings when he put Spock out, so he couldn’t exactly say, but they seemed to have expanded. He traced the lines back up to the collarbone and wondered why it was here that they were all accruing. He leaned closer and switched the plate on his magnifying PADD to a micro-sight, his eyes squinting in his study.

Then he noticed something, something which he hadn’t before seen. He blinked to refresh his eyes and leaned closer. The skin, there at his collarbone, seemed to be…inflamed. He brought his head up and his PADD down, and considered what he just observed. Then abruptly, he leaned back over and scanned the whole of the bruise-like flesh. He concluded with no other inclination of inflammation. Solely the collarbone, the same spot which these strange blue trails seemed to generate from. 

Inflammation to the skin was caused by _something. Always_. There was never random inflammation, there was always a reason. Irritants in the air, allergies, friction. He replayed the scene in his head, Spock wrapped in wire, and thought of when it may have happened. It could have been the touch of the wires, but why such an isolated spot? Was the fabrication of these lines in tandem with the inflammation? He growled dismissively, the answer to such questions being far, far away. Until he got the results of that blood sample, there was hardly anything he could do besides twiddle his thumbs. _Whatever. I’m a doctor, not a fucking god._

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Time had passed slowly, yet far too quickly. The passage of time meant the closer Kirk’s ship was to doom. He placed his chin in his hand and tapped his cheek. The last hour or so, in his pensiveness, he had continued to come to only one option. An option he regarded with distaste and detestation. Yet, it seemed to be, in fact, the only one option.

The swish of the turbo lift announced the arrival of Engineer Scott. He gave a shallow sigh as he looked at the back of Kirk’s head and walked beside his chair. He put his hand on the armrest, his fingers twitching and tapping. Expecting a greeting but receiving only silence, Kirk looked up at him curiously. The Scotsman swallowed and adverted his eyes to the view screen, his eyes glossy.

“What can I do for you, Scotty?” Kirk finally asked. Scotty exhaled and looked to his feet.

“Captain…” he nervously met Kirk’s gaze. “I was wrong, Jim. An’ I’m sorry. I…I genuinely thought—“

“Scotty, Scotty,” Kirk put his hand up and smiled at him. “You weren’t wrong. _We_ were, maybe…but the fault does not lay on your shoulders. In fact, you were the only one able to concoct a logical theory in the face of impossibility. That’s admirable, my friend. I need you to keep doing that kind of thinking, seeing as we’re still in this mess. Alright?” He patted his friend’s arm, and a ghost of a smile crossed Scotty’s face. 

“Aye, Captain.”

“Sickbay to Kirk.” Scotty and Kirk exchanged glances as McCoy’s filtered voice rang from the captain’s chair. 

“Kirk here.”

“He’s awake, Jim. And he’s pissing me off.”

A grin blossomed on Scotty’s face, his guilt weighing a tad lighter. Kirk stifled a laugh. As long as his first officer was disturbing the peace of his chief medical officer, things weren’t so morose. It seemed to be a rightness of the universe.

“Be right down, Doctor. Scott, the conn?”

“It’d be my pleasure, Captain.” He smiled graciously at him. Kirk leapt out of his chair, ready to either scold or cherish the Vulcan. Hours had passed since he had caught Spock’s limp body in that empty corridor, witnessing what he thought was his death.

Although he of course knew otherwise, the human in Kirk had believed Spock was indestructible…untouchable. He’d seen Spock with broken bones, attacked by indigenous creatures, sent to sickbay countless times…and the Vulcan seemed to take any assault on him with ease. He never showed any sort of vulnerability, any weakness; how could something like this have happened to _him?_  

Kirk nodded to a passing crew member as he turned a corner. He realized there wasn’t anyone he would trust his life with more than Spock, and it was he always getting Jim out of trouble. It wasn’t supposed to be the other way around. 

“Jesus Christ in the sky, what is wrong with your grubby green brain?!”

The yelling reverberated from the sickbay to Kirk’s ears. He raised his eyebrows as he entered medical to a familiar sight; through the open doorway, it seemed as though Spock was attempting to stand from his sitting position on the bed, McCoy angrily trying to keep him down.

“You are insufferable, Spock. _Insufferable_. SIT DOWN!” he barked, pushing down on Spock’s shoulders.

“Doctor, you are being highly unreasonable. It is very apparent—“

“ME?! I’M BEING UNREASONABLE?! Spock, for the love of Maya Angelou in heaven, you do realize this is your second time in sickbay in less than two days? Right? Can you compute that? Fucking hell.”

“Your indifference using such colorful metaphors seems to have increased, Doctor, which —“

“Don’t you dare tell me how to talk, you walking thesaurus!”

“Gentlemen.” Kirk cleared his throat as he stood in the doorway.  They both froze and watched him lean against the frame. “What’s happening here?”

“Your shiny daisy for a first officer is giving me an aneurysm, is what is happening. He wants to work, Jim. _Work._ With that kind of logic, I wouldn’t be surprised if he still believed in Santa Claus.”

“Doctor, it is highly illogical for you to even generate that comparison considering the character of Santa Claus was an Earth concept and was confined to Earth alone. Being that I was born on Vulcan, I was not introduced to your vacuous tradition. Captain,” Spock turned his head towards Kirk as McCoy rolled his eyes dramatically. “I understand my situation is undesirable, and I logically understand I cannot resume my duties as I am being confined here. However, there is no rational reason on why I cannot work from the sickbay.”

Kirk crossed his arms and flicked his eyes to the huffy-faced doctor. 

“Bones?”

“He’s losing his damn mind, Jim,” said McCoy with a wave of his hand. “He hasn’t eaten in days, his body has consumed far too much physical stress, and frankly, he’s just, he’s losing his mind.” His face twitched as he turned to inspect the monitor. Treating Spock was worse than being sick himself. He mumbled something about the Vulcan being ‘trying’ and ‘absurd’, while impatiently scanning readings he’d already read. Kirk sighed.

“Spock, I don’t know what to tell you, McCoy is—“

“I will remain in the sickbay, Captain. He can observe me and my progression the entirety of the day if that will ease his overactive mind, but nonetheless, I _can_ work.”

“What kind of work are you so hellbent on doing?” asked Kirk, somewhat perplexed. It was true that Spock always wanted to work, but it was particularly plucky of him to request doing so after recent events. 

“I believe it would be a valuable use of my time to study and hypothesize the cause of my condition. Though evidence appears to point otherwise, I have not conceded to the idea of a physical being having the capability of controlling life at such a distance. If I can solve even a portion of it, it may prove crucial to the outcome of this entire situation. Regarding not only myself, but the Enter—“ he stopped short, his breath hitching in his chest. Pain struck his shoulder and gripped his arm, pulses leaking into his chest cavity. He gripped the bed and stared at the ground, finding his focus in an attempt to control it. Kirk immediately pushed off the doorframe and moved forward, but McCoy put his arm up to stop him.

“It’s happened a few times. It’ll pass,” he explained quietly. Moments after, Spock released a quiet breath and loosened his hands.

“Is this going to keep happening?” demanded Kirk in concern.

“I have absolutely no idea, Jim,” McCoy lifted a scanner to Spock. “Everything that has happened and will happen is a damn guessing game. I have no way of predicting anything.” Disappointed with his readings, he dropped the scanner to his side. Kirk blinked and ran through the options in his mind.

“Did you get that sample back from hematology?”

“Yeah. They say the organic make-up of the atoms in his blood is ‘extremely atypical and nothing of clue to a foreseeable nor desirable result.’ So basically, I’m putting in my recommendation to absorb the entire hematology department and have them work as lab hands, since they’re a bunch of fuckin’ morons.”

Kirk gave a disheartened chuckle. That blood seemed to be their last hope. He locked eyes with Spock, wondering what the hell was happening to his friend’s body. He was still too grey, deep bags under his eyes, but the strength in his gaze had not faltered. He inhaled deeply at the words he knew Spock to be saying.

“I think we should let him work, Bones.”

McCoy shook his head, cynic, and rubbed his forehead. “See, I’m not surprised by that.” The fire in his voice had snuffed out. 

“I get what your saying, Bones, I do. And you’re the doctor here, I don’t want to override your word. But you said it yourself, everything is a guessing game. We have nothing at all to go on. Maybe Spock can figure this out, we both know how infuriatingly smart he is…it’s worth a shot, right?”

McCoy nodded, a sadness beginning to replace his impatience. He felt defeated, vanquished. Not solely in this argument, but in his work. The fulfillment he found in his practices was deflating, a man before him dying while he didn’t even know why. 

“Yeah, maybe. It’s not like he’s getting any better, so, why the hell not.”

Kirk lingered on McCoy for a beat before turning back to Spock, his eyes serious. “I don’t want you leaving sickbay, for anything. Not without McCoy.” Spock nodded; he understood. Kirk softened his expression.

“Are you alright?”

“At the moment, Jim, yes.” 

“Alright.” Kirk eyed him dubiously, but Spock raised his eyebrows as if to tell him he was being honest. Kirk nodded his belief. “Keep me posted.” Seeing for himself that the Vulcan was alert, he made way for the exit, but McCoy stepped in the doorway and blocked him.

“Now hold on, Jim. What’s the damn plan here?”

Kirk widened his eyes and turned around to look at Spock, who was sharing the look McCoy gave off. The two of them seemed to have found some kind of common ground in the midst of their disagreements. Kirk scoffed.

“Well look at this. Since when am I the one being ganged up on?”

“We just want to know you’ve still got your sense, Jim.”

“You can be impetuous, Captain,” agreed Spock. “It is a simple and logical desire to seek out what your implied course of action is.”

“Listen, the two of you have jobs to do just as I do. Spock, your job is to not die. McCoy, your job is to have Spock not die. My job is to make sure neither of you nor the ship die. So let’s all just do our jobs, alright?” He took a step forward to move past the doctor, but McCoy shifted in front of him.

“That sounds mighty suspicious, Mister Captain.”

“Bones—”

“Captain, the doctor and I are suspecting you to wish to travel to that moon and do exactly as I feared you would.”

“Spock—”

“Dammit Jim, so that is what’s happening!”

“Gentlemen! Shut your traps and listen to me, dammit! Stop giving me that look, Bones, I’m not an incompetent man. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I’m not doing that…exactly.” He looked between the two of them. McCoy crossed his arms, waiting. Kirk motioned for him to sit down, but he stayed at his post. Kirk exhaled.

“Look, Bones, you may have been right. This seems to be something akin to a no-win scenario. But that doesn’t mean we just stop trying, right? That’s not very logical, is it, Spock? We have to keep trying. We have to do something. We can clearly see that the alien’s threat has held true, as Spock is undeniably unwell. Therefore we can conclude that it’s threats regarding the Enterprise are true. Now I’m not going to just let some crazy alien bastard take my first officer and my entire ship while I pace trenches into the floor, waiting for it happen. So the only option seems to be that we continue to that moon, yes, and yes, we will get those crystals it so desperately wants. Now, wait! I said don’t give me that look, Bones! We get those crystals, we return to D684, and then when we meet that creature again…we try and destroy them.”

“Captain?” Spock’s voice was punctuated with edge in his superior officer’s sanity, but Kirk lifted his hands in explanation.

“Ive been thinking, Spock. And I don’t think we have any other option.”

Spock stared at him, completely silent, his eyes widened in slight astonishment. He was sitting rigid on the bed. It was somewhat eerie, Spock being left with nothing to say. 

“Well think of it this way,” continued Kirk, “we know they can reach us, harm us, kill us. So that means you are gonna die, Spock. We’re all gonna die. And if we’re doomed anyway, why not try taking them down while we’re at it?” Kirk turned fully to Spock and took a few steps closer to him.

“I know you, Spock. I know you wouldn’t just let them take this ship without some kind of fight.”

“Captain…you are insinuating these beings are capable of telepathically controlling a physical body, of killing me. Of an entire starship. That they have that power.”

“What the hell else is this, Spock? One second you were standing upright, telling me that your ailments were you just didn’t want to eat, and then the next second you look like a falling corpse who couldn’t even hear me yelling your name.”

Spock swallowed and let his eyes slip to the wall. “I have no intention of allowing the Enterprise to be effaced if there was any action I could take against it. I do not see an action I can personally take, but,” he looked back up, “If you are adamant on this, Jim, I will trust you. However I must ask why we are on course for those crystals when you intend on attacking the alien species regardless.”

McCoy uncrossed his arms, his sternness ebbing away. The muddled future he’d been swimming in was becoming clearer. Kirk shook his head lightly.

“Because I need you with me when we make our move against them,” he said quietly, fervently. “Maybe they’ll stop doing this to you when they realize we’re getting those crystals. You’ll be back on the bridge when we fire the first torpedoes.”

Spock glanced at McCoy, wondering if this is something they could accept. McCoy replied with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“Captain,” continued Spock, “you imply you will in fact retrieve the crystals, even if your intention is not to hand them over. If we were to stand no chance against them, which is what I predict, they will still come upon the crystals in our possession. Once they have them…I am doubting that my extended life would be an equitable trade for that. Logically, we should turn around now. Use the time it would take to return for the effects to discourse through me, so the effects do not reach the ship before we reach the planet.”

“Logical? Perhaps, Spock. But I’m not gonna do that. I’m not changing my mind.”

Spock exhaled and spoke silently once more with the doctor. It was as he had predicted to McCoy; Jim couldn’t let him die, even in the face of logic. McCoy broke away from the doorframe and stepped up to Kirk.

“What if we go to this moon, show ‘em that we’re there, but we don’t actually pick any crystals up?” he suggested. “So far as we know, they can only tell if we’re on our way or not.”

“An interesting thought, Doctor, however they did mention these crystals prove critical to the functioning of their lives,” said Spock. “The alien exhibited highly advanced senses, it would be unwise to assume this species cannot sense these crystals in our possession. I surmise that was your conjecture, Captain?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too. I think we have to get them for this to even have the possibility of working.”

“So, we are gonna destroy the crystals, right?” poked McCoy dryly. “Because it’d be pretty dumb to show up to a battle over gold when one party’s gotta tank and the other’s got an extra sharp pencil.”

“Are you calling my ship a pencil, Bones?”

“ _Jim_.”

“Of course we’re gonna destroy the crystals, Doc. See, we’re all on the same page, aren’t we? And my ship isn’t a pencil. We’ve got weapons capable of destroying civilizations, that’s more than ‘extra sharp’.”

“You’re sounding a little barbarous, Jim.”

“If I’m choosing between saving 400 lives of innocent Starfleet officers and the lives of a species willing to kill everything in sight, I’m choosing the former.”

It was a difficult concept for the doctor. He agreed, of course. His ship, his patients, first. Anything else second. But the thought of purposefully destroying an entire colony, though it was the only option, was a heavy weight for him to accept. He himself wanted to personally rip the head off the one who did this to his Vulcan patient, but, how many others were there? Were they all like that one? Did this species have children, or families? He pushed his lips together in a tight line.

“It’s all I’ve got to go on, Bones.” Kirk placed a hand on his shoulder. “Send me to hell, but I’m not sacrificing my people for people who did that.” He pointed to Spock’s shoulder, then dropped his hand to his side. 

“Alright, Jim. Alright. This might work, but really, it might not. That’s a fat chance you’re taking a risk on.”

Kirk shrugged. “It’s all I’ve got, Bones.”

A hologram almost killed a Vulcan. What could it’s physical presence do? What could a group of them do? It _was_ a fat chance for the Enterprise to win, to somehow defeat this completely unknown species and escape with their lives. It was the only option, however, and it was a punch Kirk would throw his whole weight into. He turned his look to Spock.

“What do you need for your work?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA:
> 
> Star Trek Beyond was amazing, that is all.


	15. Finite Vortices

“At least let me give you a hypo,” asserted McCoy. Spock shook his head, his right hand gripping the desk and his eyes clenched shut. His microscope and palettes were static where he left them, abandoned, when he went rigid. McCoy groaned and hung his head.

Spock had been experiencing these attacks since he’d woken up hours ago, his pain evident and his mask of it no where to be found. Each time, McCoy tried to sway him into taking a pain relief. Each time, Spock refused. It was the one thing that McCoy had the ability to do in this exasperating mess, and Spock wouldn’t let him do it. 

“Spock, I thought you wanted to work,” he gestured to the microscope, though Spock’s closed eyes couldn’t see. “So how the hell are you getting anything done like this?”

“The last time I accepted one of your hyposprays, I regretted it.” He visibly loosened as the pain dissipated. “That, and I suspect they would prove ineffective nonetheless.”

“They were only ‘ineffective’ when your K2 level was literally off the charts, Spock. I can do something for you with these kinds of sporadic attacks. Let me give you something; rest for a bit.”

“Doctor, I assure you, I am not in need of that.”

“How much work are you getting done, here, Spock?” pressed McCoy.

“More than I would be if I were stationary in that biobed, McCoy,” answered Spock firmly. “As I have already informed you, and you have clearly redacted from your memory, I have discovered two inconsistencies that hematology could not connect. Would I have done so had I been resting?”

“Can the unearthing of these ‘inconsistencies’ save you from this situation?” He hovered his scanner near Spock’s head, tsking. 

“No, Doctor, they cannot. They are pieces of a puzzle I have not yet solved.”

“Well solve away, you ingrate, but I need to get some nutrients in you. You’re gonna keel over from lack of food before that bum shoulder gets ya.”

“Charming, Doctor,” Spock mumbled as he leaned into the microscope. He did not often use the word ‘mystified’ in accordance with his scientific studies, but it seemed to be best suited in how he felt looking at his blood. It was as hematology stated; highly atypical. The basic compounds, the atoms and their particles, were severely distorted. They were floating in a cellular capsule both he and McCoy found stupefaction in. Were he not a living example, he would have stated it to be impossible. The distortion of genetics should define the absence of individualized life, the abhorrence of breath, yet he was not dead. Fascinating. 

 _Frightening,_ said an echo in the back of his head.

“I didn’t say that out loud to hear my own voice, Spock. You need to eat. You have to.”

“My physical stance on that subject has not altered from yesterday.” He tightened in on a clump of cells rotating in a bizarre fashion. He had found a few others similar to this cluster. The nuclei were far too many, inviting the production of more electrons and protons than found on a Vulcan/human hybrid. The number of nuclei itself was seemingly impossible in the face of physics. He had brought it to the attention of McCoy earlier, but the doctor just huffed and scratched his head.

“Then I’m gonna give you an intravenous injection of the nourishment you need. And I swear on a witch’s broomstick, any argument you have against that is hereby overruled.”

Spock’s shoulders sunk and he leaned back in his chair, accepting his defeat. Nutrition was a vital substance essential to the maintenance of life, yes. It did not change the fact that he simply did not want to engage in it’s consumption. He offered his prime arm to the doctor.

“You won’t feel so nauseous once you’ve got this in you.” 

“Is that an attempt at consolation, Doctor?”

“Oh, shut up,” he grumbled. He grasped Spock’s arm tightly and pushed the fillings into his vein. 

“There, see? Was that so bad? Did you want a lollipop on your way out?” He put a hand on his hip and gave Spock a dry smile. Spock blinked at him and turned back into the microscope. Looking to the ceiling for strength, McCoy wondered how, in all of the universe, the two of them came to serve on the same damn ship.

He put the emptied needle onto a tray and looked at Spock. The Vulcan’s eyes were glued to his tools, occasionally looking up only to poke a few notes into his PADD. Half the ship was losing their marbles in hysteria, but there sat the dying one, cool as a cucumber. It was a facade, it had to be. He was Vulcan _and_ human. He was not the emotionless robot he tried to display himself as at the beginning of this five year mission. His mind could not be the indifference that he showed now. A person has emotions, feelings, thoughts, desires, _fears._ To hoard them in isolation, to lock them away and bury them in a fragile attempt at protection…

“So what’s gonna happen if you realize there is no solving this?” McCoy kept his voice nonchalant, as if it wasn’t such a human thing to say, as he plopped into the chair perpendicular to the desk. He crossed his legs casually. Spock raised his head from the scope and looked at the wall. The waters the doctor was wading in were not ones he had intentions of treading.

“That is a typically illogical inquiry, Doctor.”

“Is it, though? Is it not something you’ve considered? You must have. Don’t you think now is as good a time as any to talk about it?”

“I fail to see what needs discussing.”

“Dammit Spock, _you’re dying,”_ his voice turned into a harsh whisper, his legs uncrossed as he leaned forward. Spock clenched his jaw and turned his head to meet McCoy’s stare.

“You were _tortured_ up there, Spock. You’ve had extremely vivid, physical nightmares about it. You’re continually assaulted with the aftershocks of said torture, your life is a stopwatch that’s already been started, and yet here you are, your damn nose in a microscope, as if it’s another dilemma at a takeaway planet.”

“What would you have me do, Doctor McCoy? Suffocate in self pity, drown my mind with dread of what’s to come, recall every second that is so clearly recorded in my memory of what that alien species is capable of? Allow the path of the destruction of the Enterprise to go unobserved, the access easy for the enemy? Perhaps that is a better course of action for yourself, however I do not find satiation in that exercise. It is quite evident that I have work to be done, so—“

“Oh, mother Mary, would you cut the act for a second, Spock? You’re a by-the-books kinda guy, now aren’t you? You’re not exactly what I would describe as stupid. So your complete, purposeful lack of eating isn’t just caused by…” he flicked his wrist at Spock’s left arm, “…that shit. It’s affecting you, psychologically. I know it is. Because only a stupid or conflicted man would choose not to eat until he shriveled up into a raisin, and like I said, you’re not stupid.”

At Spock’s silence, his face tense, McCoy leaned closer.

“Even now, when all the hope seems swallowed and pain blinds you at every corner, you still can’t fathom letting your human half peek out.”

Spock drew shallow breaths through his nose, his eyes staring back into McCoy’s. His left hand was constantly shaking, as expected, but now his right one was as well.

“I believe you need to reflect on your own psychological wellbeing, Doctor McCoy,” he said in a quiet voice. McCoy scoffed, nodded slowly, and leaned away from him.

“Yeah, well, I already know I’m an asshole. I can accept who I am. Can you say the same for yourself?” His gaze lingered for a moment, then he rose from his chair and turned to leave, throwing back, “Don’t forget to look into the inflammation I told you about.”

His footsteps left the sickbay and Spock exhaled the breath he’d been holding. He lightly shook his head and rested his forehead in his right hand. It was a physical action that was exuded only with emotion, but frankly, he did not care. The doctor was a grating, maddening man. His words were punctuated with fatigue, anger, frustration…something unbecoming of the human race.

However, though his words were pestilential…they were not unfounded. For the captain to be able to read Spock, as he often could, it was not such a terrible thing. For the doctor to portray such an ability…well, it was disagreeable. The captain had such a thing called ‘tact’.

He knew the doctor would return without a large passage of time. He was becoming rather talented in keeping Spock within in sight at all annoying times. 

Spock lightly grabbed his left shoulder, testing the pain upon touch. He had ensured a minimal amount of time studying the nature of the design on his skin, but it would be logical to be more familiar with it. He moved his thumb down to his collarbone and prodded it. An alarming shock of pain accompanied the touch and his hand jumped away, his brow furrowed in pain and surprise.

_“It’s only here, the collarbone, where these blueprints are conjoining. Any idea why?”_

_“I cannot say.”_

It was a curious and rather meticulous observation on the doctor’s side, and it was also a reasonable question. Why inflamed skin at the collarbone? Why only there?

_“Maybe there is no reason, Spock. I don’t know. Maybe whatever they did to you is so advanced, we just have no way to understand it. At least, that’s what I’m gonna tell myself.”_

Doctor McCoy was highly experienced and exceedingly capable, but Spock could not agree with his conclusion. Unexplainable telekinetic abilities were a thing in itself, but things pertaining to a physical body? All things fall slave to the physics of the universe, as physics are uniform in every direction, every galaxy. Inflammation of the skin, in a micro-sense, was caused by some sort of act of physics. There _must_ be a reason.

Frustrated at his dead ends, he tossed his scope stylus on the desk and leaned back. He had never experienced such a definite halt in his work before. His shoulder twitched perceptively. Biting his lower lip, he straightened his back and prepared himself the inevitable pain that was about to accompany him.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Kirk raised his eyebrows in a question to his friend’s random appearance.

“He’s driving me crazy, Jim,” McCoy grumbled in answer. “I needed a walk. Chapel’s down there, he’s fine for now.” He inhaled deeply and plopped his hand on the back of the captain’s chair, staring out the view screen. Stars streaked to the sides, sprinkling the black vastness, as they continued to warp forward. 

“When are we supposed to get there?” he asked, his fingers tapping on the chair. Jim peered up at his friend.

“Seven hours. Are you alright?”

“Whattya mean am I alright? I’m fine, Jim, why—? It should be me asking you if you’re alright! Are you alright, Jim?”

Kirk chuckled and shook his head. “You just look like you’ve seen better days, that’s all.” He smiled up at him innocently. McCoy sighed. 

“I may have become a little angry with him.”

“What happened?”

“He’s scared, Jim. Maybe not the human kind of scared, but, _his_ kind of scared. And I wanted to get him to talk, ya know? Talk things out. But…it ended up me who had an emotional breakdown.” McCoy glared down defensively when Kirk chuckled. 

“Bones, you’re trying to tell me you were trying to coerce Spock into talking out his emotions?”

“Well when you say it like that—“

“I want to help him too, Bones. I don’t want him to deal with this alone. But, that’s how he deals with things. That’s how he is.”

“Well dammit, he’s supposed to be who I want him to be!” he exclaimed, his hands up, half truthful and half ironic. Kirk gave another light chuckle before his voice turned bleak.

“Has he made any leeway?” He already knew the answer, but he needed to ask. McCoy just shook his head. Sulu adjusted his seating and turned his ear towards the talking men, wishing for Spock’s progress.

“Well,” Kirk glanced down at his hands. “Looks like we’re going in torpedoes blazing.” He wrung his hands together, a knot in his stomach, and stared at a bright star in the distance.

“It would seem that way.” McCoy returned the dismay.

“Did he see anything in the blood? Anything abnormal?”

“Ha! Oh Christ, it was definitely abnormal, Jim. He showed me, I saw it too. The infected cells are reproducing and annihilating the healthy ones.”

“So it is spreading?”

“Without a doubt.” 

The closer the infection drew to Spock’s heart, the more McCoy’s sunk. He had thought those vile blue coarses had inched down Spock’s body, and the study of the cells proved right. The confirmation, the science that Spock _was_ going to die, ripped at his insides. 

“And the cells…well they’re strange for sure,” he continued. “Some of ‘em have multiple nuclei, some of ‘em have half their particles…it should be impossible. And you know what else he found, Jim? Several clusters of cells, coated in _cilliphan_.”

“Cilliphan? What the hell is cilliphan?”

“It’s an extremely rare cellular capsule, and it’s not from Vulcan, Earth, or _any_ Federation planet. There’s not a single recording of the capsule infiltrating a sentient body. And contrary to what he might be saying out loud, he has no idea what the hell is means.”

Kirk suddenly felt nauseous. The things his friend was saying, it seemed to come straight from an old Earth science fiction novel. Things that were fantasy, only real in writing. Spock’s life was condemned and Kirk was supposed to find his pardon. His own life was saved countless times by the Vulcan, times where Spock used brain, brawn, or both to aid him. He was down there, in sickbay, barraged with reminders of his death to come, and Kirk was supposed to return the favor. He was the captain, his friend, wasn’t he? He _had_ to save him.

“I don’t understand. We’re back on course for the crystals,” he mumbled to himself.

How could he outsmart the impossible? 

“He shouldn’t be dying…”

Sulu discreetly turned back forward, an apprehension twisting his stomach, their overheard words lighting something vague. He tongued the back of his teeth and looked down at his controls.

“Captain?” Sulu turned to face Kirk. “If possible, I think I’d like to take an imperative rest period.” Kirk and McCoy simultaneously looked to him, McCoy stepping forward.

“Are you alright Sulu?”

“Yes, of course, perfectly alright. I just need to, uhm, take a walk,” he swallowed. Chekov looked over at his counterpart, worried. He tried to catch Sulu’s attention with the side of his eye, to warrant a nod of assurance, but the helmsman’s line of sight was on the captain. 

“Of course, Mister Sulu. Do what you need to do. Chekov, can you handle the helm?”

“Yes, Keptin.”

Kirk nodded at Sulu, who promptly rose and exited the bridge without hesitation. Chekov’s eyes trailed his departure before climbing into the empty seat. Kirk exchanged a look with McCoy.

“It seems everyone’s on edge around here. Why don’t you go back and check in on our first officer…I can’t help but be worried about him.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Ugh, going back after me yelling at him is like telling a girl you love her and she doesn’t say the same back.”

“Interesting metaphor, Doctor. Care to tell me something?”

“Oh shut up, Jim. I’m leaving now. And you tell me if anyone around here needs a medical checkup, you got me?”

“I gotcha, McCoy. Go on back to your girl.”

McCoy scoffed and walked away, his words, “I swear to God, I’m going to kick your ass one day,” reverbing after him. Kirk just rolled his eyes.

He stood outside medical for a few minutes, relishing Spock’s absence. It wasn’t because of Spock himself…but because being around him, his pale complexion and foreboding toxic skin, churned his insides and magnified his anxiety. Seeing Spock was seeing Spock dying. Even the slightest wince of pain cut lacerations through McCoy’s heart. He was supposed to hate the man, not feel an overwhelming concern over his very existence. He exhaled heavily and prepared himself for the sight of the infection. _Is it an infection? Is it a bruise? Jesus fuck, I don’t even know what to call it. Satan’s landscaping, is what it is._

“Doctor McCoy, he’s still working,” said Chapel disapprovingly as he walked in the room. She looked across and over to Spock’s room, his arm moving in writing, blind to anything else.

“Eh, let him work. I don’t give a shit.” He flopped his hand dismissively in the air and snagged his scanner from the counter. Chapel’s eyebrows shot up.

“He’s…but—“

“Christine.” He turned around and put his hands on her shoulders. “He’s in bed, he’s dying. He’s at the desk, he’s dying. But at the desk, he’s giving himself a chance stop the dying. So, let him work. It’s fine.” She watched him walk past the doorframe, his arm waving over the Vulcan’s shoulders. She shook her head to herself and lightly scratched her cheek, suddenly having the overwhelming need for very black coffee. Very black coffee with Irish whiskey, more specifically, but she somehow doubted the latter would bode well. She sighed and retreated to the cafe.

“How many times did it happen?” asked McCoy bluntly as he checked him over, the small sheen of sweat the only necessary indicator. Spock took an extra moment to finish his notes before looking up him.

“Three.”

“Three?! I was only gone for 20 minutes!” McCoy’s eyes were wide with surprise. Spock merely nodded and put his head back to the scope. The nurse attempted as the doctor had, bribing him with hyposprays, but her efforts were just as futile.

“Well…damn it! What else are you feeling?” he pushed. There had to be more to it than a nod. He barely heard it, but Spock definitely sighed.

“I am clearly not in prime condition, Doctor. My mind is distracted like I have not experienced before, and I have trouble concentrating my focus. I do in fact feel very weak, and every movement I make is a battle. The episodes are becoming more frequent and more aggressive. It is becoming worse. Is that the honesty you seek?”

“Spock, look—I’m,” he started, feeling his regret at their altercation. “I’m sorry, for losing my temper. I didn’t…” He exhaled heavily and sat in the other chair. “I didn’t—“

“Doctor McCoy, your onerous need to apologize in not necessary. I understand I am under physical stress, but that does not invalidate yours. You reacted as I would have predicted under such circumstances. Shall we forgo this?”

McCoy nodded, knowing it was as close as he would get to the matter. His eyes caught Spock’s left hand clenching, quaking, in pain. He rubbed the back of his neck. The passion he once possessed to become a doctor was the frustration he now felt at being an inept one. Lingering on his own incompetence was a waste of time and energy, and he tried to waver from it. He needed to focus on Spock.

“The next time you have an episode strong enough to make you lose consciousness, you might not wake up again,” he said, his voice gentler than it was 20 minutes ago.

“I have considered that.”

McCoy pressed his lips together and nodded. Conversing the future of a patient normally went differently.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted honestly. 

“There is nothing to be said, Doctor. I do not need commiseration nor comforting words, as other patients of yours may expect. I simply need to work. We have found ourselves in an unfortunate predicament and we can do nothing but continue to work towards a desirable result, or, as I’ve heard you humans say, ‘die trying’.”

McCoy opened his mouth, then closed it. His eyes went to his feet before lifting himself, walking to the doorframe.

“Doctor,” McCoy stopped and looked back at him. “There is nothing to be done, medically. Do not place needless blame on yourself for matters out of all our reach.” He opened his PADD again and continued with his recordings, checking the microscope’s lens. McCoy stared at him for a few moments, then slowly turned back around and walked to his office.

Spock’s muscles ached, a permanent mist of fatigue settling over him. He forced himself to continue his notes, but every breath he took, he felt, rattling in his chest. A small tremor convulsed from his shoulder to his lungs.

The more he studied this blood, the more he reflected on the situation, the deeper realism became. He could find no logical outcome where he survived this. Trust and belief in Kirk he possessed, yes. Perhaps the captain could attack the planet, save the Enterprise. It was a steep chance with minimal statistical likelihood of success, but the likelihood still existed. His own fate held no statistics, no chart for chance. Defeating the hostile aliens would not eradicate Spock’s injuries. He would still die. He ran his thumb across his hand, pondering the thought. If that were the case, if the aliens were defeated and the ship safe…he would not find rancor in his death.

He did not fear death, he never had. He did, however, fear time. Time with James Kirk and the Enterprise, time to discover the unknowns and the galaxies, to see the stars and fill his mind of knowledge. It was those things he found regret in regarding his own end. Regret and fear on not having quite enough time. Another snap of pain cracked down his bones, pulling his thoughts away — a vile reminder of his subsequent future.


	16. Closer to the Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the love, guys. Writing this has given me something to look forward to, and something to enjoy. Every single one of you is wonderful.  
> On the previous version and this one as well, I've gotten a few comments on McCoy's cursing -- I recognize that my McCoy is a bit more explicit than canon McCoy, but, I like him like that. I identify with McCoy's character in a lot of ways, and I myself have a sailor's mouth, so I've given that piece of me to him. And in a reality where his vocabulary isn't restricted by a television or film rating, I imagine he would have a bit more to say. Anyway, that's just my perception of him -- I love that about fan fiction, having the ability to tailor things to match your mind. I have no qualms with people imagining him as a bit more reserved in his language, because thats the magic of imagination, right? It's just that that's not how I see him. Anyway, thanks again for your readership. LLAP, my friends!

Strict pain tethered his nerves, filling every inch of his body, and he found himself leaning over the desk he sat at. He clenched his fists into tight balls with forearms pressed against the wood. Something sharp twisted in his torso, like someone tied rope around his lungs and pulled on both ends. A staccato gasp escaped his throat, a quiet exclamation of surprise and pain. He had the sudden desperation to call for McCoy, a yearning for that quick and heavy sedation becoming extremely apparent. Where had McCoy just left to? He attempted to distract himself with the answer. The doctor had only just left, why could he not recall? The engineering deck? No….the bridge? He cried out as a fresh wave rolled over him, tearing at his ligaments and scratching into his bones. 

Time must have passed, but in his trapped void of shuddering torment, it was fictitious. Then suddenly, as quickly as it came upon him, the seemingly endless pain leaked out from his body. In the swift relief, he fell forward and caught himself on the desk, breathing heavily with his mind shaken. 

He was going to die. It was inevitable, and it was pursuing him. It was as if Death was already in his veins, it’s presence unhidden, waiting for it’s curtain call. The realization did not cause fear to overcome him, nor cloud his thoughts and tease panic. Instead, a setting weight of acceptance came upon him, the formal recognition almost a comfort.

He slowly straightened himself as his breath caught up. Coughing a few times, he jabbed at the PADD beside him and activated the course agenda. They were almost there…3.067 solar hours longer. The entire purpose of their continued pursuit to the moon was the captain’s need to spare him. _So why am I still dying?_

He heard footsteps enter the sickbay area and he lifted his head, trying as he could to dissuade his weak appearance. He expected McCoy, but instead locked eyes with Lieutenant Sulu, who was holding a rather peculiar object. The lieutenant froze immediately upon entry, his eyes wide with the sight of the first officer’s pale skin and visible sheen of sweat. The Vulcan was shaking, his eyes hallowed. Sulu opened his mouth, but was unable to recall the words he wished to say.

“Mister Sulu,” addressed Spock. His voice was gravelly but held it’s strength, and Sulu blinked to recover himself. His first desire was to ask about the Vulcan’s health, to portray his sincere grief in the officer’s position, but time was more important than sentiments.

“Commander Spock, I came here because I think I might know something about what you’re looking at.” He nodded towards the tools on the desk. Spock’s eyebrows shot up, completely offhanded by the statement. His eyes flicked to and from what was in Sulu’s hands — a potted flower.

“…Mister Sulu, I do not believe I informed anyone but McCoy of my findings thus far—“

“I know, I overheard him discussing it with the captain. He said that you had found cells with abnormal amounts of nuclei, that some of them even had casings of cilliphan, sir,” he responded. There was a sense of intent in his words, a familiarity and recognition in the cellular capsule known by very few. Something stirred in Spock, a trusting attention he did not give to everyone. He turned towards him.

“What do you know, Lieutenant?”

“This flower, Commander,” began Sulu, taking the question as an acceptance to his presence. He took a few quick steps to the desk and set the plant down. “This flower is an Angurian Jade flower. It’s very rare, very sensitive, and can only grow in the fourth quadrant of the galaxy.”

Spock shook his head tiredly.

“I do not understand how this is relevant to our present situation, Mister Sulu. I am afraid you will need to be more specific with me, as I cannot theorize like I am normally able to.”

“Sir, the flower…well, look for yourself. My words won’t mean anything. Take a sample, look at it under the Petri scope.”

Spock tilted his head, his interest peaked. There was a stack of needles boxed upon the desk, and he plucked one and set to the flower. Carefully scraping the exterior of the stem, he tapped it onto the glass platform and raised his head to the scope.

Sulu watched Spock’s body visibly tense in his observation.

“Where did you get this flower, Sulu?” There was a hint of curiosity in his urgency.

“On Anguria, Spock. We had stopped there on a supply exchange 200 days ago. One of the Ambassadors learned I was a botanist enthusiast, as he so happened to be. He gave it to me.”

“But…the cilliphan…”

“As rare as cilliphan is, sir, 93% of all known cilliphan has been observed on these flowers. There have been traces of it on pieces of foreign objects, like meteors or debris that have drifted into Federation territory. It’s thought that it can be indigenous to other unknown parts of the galaxy, but otherwise, it’s mostly just these flowers.” Sulu gently lifted a finger to touch a blue petal. Spock simply shook his head, lost for words.

“It’s not well known, Commander,” continued Sulu. “Cilliphan isn’t a priority in Federation sciences. It’s rather small part of our discoveries, only important all the damn way out here, and to flower aficionados like me. But Spock…the really critical thing here is that these flowers are venomous.”

Spock lifted his eyes from the flower to Sulu’s. The lieutenant’s words sunk in, the iceberg that once blocked clarity in this ordeal crumbling away, pieces of Spock’s puzzle drawing together. He sat silent for a moment in the revel of it. The magnitude of this discovery, the implications it brought to light…

“If the flower is venomous, that must mean…”

“Yes, Spock. We _weren’t_ wrong. _They were lying._ I don’t know how, Commander, but I would bet my life that they somehow were able to embed the flower’s toxin in you, let it do the killing because they couldn’t.”

“And that means they are not controlling me,” Spock realized quietly. A relief he was not aware he needed came over him in droves, a release from a fear that he was nothing more than an alien’s puppet, his life attached to a string connected to someone else’s trigger. “If I am being affected by a toxin, then I would have been affected whether we retrieved the crystals or not.”

Sulu nodded, his face falling. “They must have assumed we would vary from the course, and on cue, discover you were dying. We’d fear an implicated and fabricated threat. And that’s precisely what happened. We were so beaten and vanquished when we thought we had it wrong. That they had such an omnipotent power over you and us. God, I was so…but that’s not what it ended up being, Spock.”

“No…it’s this venom.” Spock stood to match height with Sulu, but staggered and threw his palm out to catch the desk. Sulu shot out a hand to steady him, his eyes wide and concerned. Spock gently waved him off and straightened himself.

“Is there an antidote?” he asked flatly. Sulu swallowed and looked down, and Spock knew.

“No, Commander. I’m sorry. We still don’t know much about the flower, or it’s toxin. We just…we’re too far behind on this. If this had happened three years from now…”

Spock shook his head and let his eyes wander to a stray photo on the wall. There was a strange mixture of relief and melancholy at the discovery made. The Enterprise was most certainly safe; she was not threatened. The alien’s manipulation of the venom proved their incapability of telekinetically destroying a starship. Their race was clearly volatile, hostile, and unknown, but they did have limitations. Not realizing what he was staring at, he registered the photo on the wall. It was of Doctor McCoy and his medical staff, dated two solar years ago. He felt a quiet simmer of sorrow at the realization that there really was no antidote. Quickly, though, he replaced the emotion with logical acceptance.

“Do not feel contrition at facts, Mister Sulu.”

“Maybe we can figure it out, Spock. Or maybe it will affect you differently, because you’re a Vulcan. It’s not over yet,” offered Sulu, still holding onto hope. Spock knew otherwise.

“Perhaps,” he lied. His hands shook perceptively at his side. The action seemed to be as familiar to him as breathing. Though, even that had become quite painful, his lungs feeling as if they were lined with eroding chemicals. There was a strange impatience for his end to come as he officially adopted it’s inevitability, for the pain was becoming increasingly annoying.

“Have you already informed the captain?” he asked.

“No. I wanted to confirm my theory before offering it.”

“We must do so immediately.” He stepped to the medical communicator. “Sickbay to bridge.”

“Spock! Are you alright?!”

“Inconsequentially, Captain. Is the doctor with you? You both should come here immediately. Mister Sulu has made a rather remarkable discovery in our situation.”

“We’re on our way, hold tight.” _We_. So McCoy _was_ on the bridge. 

On the upper deck, Kirk and the doctor exchanged apprehensive glances. They shared a careful excitement at Spock’s call, despairing for news that was positive versus another dig in their graves. Kirk called to Uhura to take the chair before he and McCoy bounded to the turbo lift.

“Back when I was up here a few hours ago, didn’t Sulu ask for a rest break?” questioned McCoy with a raised eyebrow. 

“Yes, he did.” Kirk scratched his chin with his thumb. “Peculiar, isn’t it? I’m really hoping this is the breakthrough we need, Bones.”

“Me too, Jimbo. I’m ready to take one of those pretty blue pills and conk out for 12 hours,” he said with a dry grumble. Kirk chuckled beside him, rather thinking he wouldn’t mind that either. 

“The last time you gave me one of those, I slept so incredibly well.” He laughed. “Thank God for medical advancement.”

“Ha! God? The organic makeup of that pill was actually discovered by a man named Gerradi D’Amato, Jim. Thank Gerradi.” Kirk smiled and raised an invisible glass. 

“Well then, thanks, Gerradi.” 

McCoy put a film hand on Kirk’s shoulder and gave him a shake, a smile playing on his lips. Perhaps he was allowing unwarranted hope to lighten him before even knowing Spock and Sulu’s advancement, but he hadn’t heard anything beneficial in so long he couldn’t quite help it.

They rushed into sickbay side by side, their eyes an immediate question when they came upon Spock and Sulu.

“Spock…” started Kirk, but then he took note of the Vulcan’s appearance. Spock’s demeanor portrayed hardly a falter in strength, but physically, he looked so _unwell._ The sinking of his skin showed the weight he’d lost, his face thinner and tired. He was leaning ever so slightly against the desk. Silently, the doctor realized that he’d likely had another episode, a vicious one. He fingered the medical scanner in his pocket.

“Well what is it, Spock? What have you discovered?” Kirk covered his concern, knowing it wasn’t something Spock responded well to. Spock looked to Sulu beside him.

“Captain,” began the lieutenant. “The abnormality in Spock’s cells are almost identical to the cells in this very rare, very toxic flower. Spock and I hypothesize that, due to the non-coincidental tendencies of the universe, the hostile alien from the bridge somehow injected the venom into Spock’s blood. Likely from first contact.” He glanced nervously to Spock. “The venom is fatal, Captain. There is no antidote.”

Kirk’s stomach dropped to his feet, his body suddenly numb. He was not sure what words he expected from the two of them, but the ones uttered were not it. His first reaction was to question the validity of it, as this flower was so incredibly random how could it possibly be responsible? However he had more trust in Spock’s conclusions than his own, and second-guessing him was rarely productive. But if Spock was accurate in the flower’s involvement, then by default, he was accurate in it’s deathly nature. His skin paled. Before it fully settled into his brain, Spock added,

“The importance of this discovery is that we can logically deduce the alien race was lying about their capabilities, as we had first thought. They are not controlling me, the toxin is. They utilized the toxin because it’s organic nature is well hidden in an organic body, like mine. It is not immediately registered as venom. They utilized a toxin in general because they cannot, in fact, kill a being from a distance such as this. They certainly cannot do so to a starship. The Enterprise is in absolutely no danger, Jim. It is safe.”

McCoy stared at him, completely appalled. Racing down here with Jim, they’d thought this new information was something akin to saving Spock, not condemning him. Confliction hung to dry in his mind. They wouldn’t have to declare war on a definitely superior race, but Spock would still die. Their 400 person crew was no longer in malice, and they would live, but Spock would still die. Spock was going to die.

“You’re certain about this?” managed Kirk, looking between the two of them. He could accept the research, the definition, of their discovery. What he could not swallow, however, was it’s implications. Sulu was the one to answer.

“Yes, sir. I’m rather certain.”

“How did you discover this? When?”

“A few hours ago, on the bridge, Doctor McCoy was explaining to you Spock’s strange condition. I overheard what he was saying, and the thing’s he’d described sounded familiar to me. Like I’d heard something like that before.”

“Eavesdropping, Lieutenant?”

“Well, McCoy wasn’t exactly whispering.” He shared a sad look with the doctor before continuing. “Captain, I asked for that break because I felt like I had the answer, or at least a clue, somewhere. I scrambled over several of my recent reports, and I recalled the one on this flower. I remembered studying it’s DNA and thinking how irregular it was. At the time, I found it rather interesting. So I briefed over my observational reports, just in case, and I was right; it was exactly as McCoy said had got Spock. I don’t know how they got ahold of one of these flowers, but, I think that they did.”

“And it _is_ fatal?” demanded McCoy. Kirk winced, never wishing to hear the question nor the answer. Sulu barely nodded.

“Undoubtedly.”

Kirk turned on his heel and began pacing. _Logical,_ yes. The gears fit and turned without gap — it had to poison Spock to kill him, because it itself could not. It’s inability visibly outlined the Enterprise’s safety. They could just, warp away and continue forward as if it had never happened. Nothing would happen to the ship.

To the ship.

“There has to be something we can do,” he muttered to himself. “Do you think that if these aliens were advanced enough to extract and formulate a toxin from this flower, that they could have the antidote?”

Spock took one step forward and broke his silence, a look in his eye.

“Captain, that is inherently out of the question.”

“Could they have the antidote?” 

“You cannot risk the ship on my behalf, primarily now that we have discovered the ship was never in threat. We must warp out of this area and continue on Starfleet’s navigations immediately.”

“ _Could they have it?”_ he pressed, his voice rising. Spock exhaled and lightly put his hand on the table, further leaning into it.

“Hypothetically, Jim, yes. They are more advanced than us. They could have it. But there is no hypothetical in knowing that they _will_ kill us all before relinquishing it. It is simply out of the question.”

“Wait, hold on, now,” interrupted McCoy. “I found no evidence of a puncture form an injection. Just how do you think it got in his system? Magic?”

“Unlikely, Doctor,” answered Spock with a restrained eyeroll. McCoy placed his hands on his hips and shot him a look. Spock may be the nails on his medical chalkboard, but he was still his patient and colleague. He needed evidence, a confirmed conclusion, that Spock had been poisoned and was expected to die before he could just accept it.

“Well it was obviously, um, controlling the situation,” said Sulu nervously as he recalled the event. “With Spock on the bridge. It’s hand was out, it was making the calls. That part wasn’t a trick. That was real. It had to have happened then.”

“He’s right,” said Kirk softly.

“But that doesn’t explain _where_ or _how_ it was injected!” 

“I’m not sure, McCoy,” apologized Sulu sadly. “That’s the mystery. The flower itself naturally emits it’s poison through the stems pores, as a defense against predators. It’s actually an emission rather than a liquid; it soaks into the predator’s skin the moment contact is made. It’s a very specific and strange process…” He looked down at his flower, saddened by the presence that once brought him joy. McCoy shook his head and shrugged woefully. The lesson still couldn’t answer his questions.

A modest stab ached through Spock’s shoulder, below his neck. It was small in comparison to previous attacks, but he still winced slightly at the prodding pain. Then, suddenly, the ache thrust an epiphany to the front of his jumbled mind. The missing piece, the light to the darkened queries, the completion of the puzzle. He jerked his head up and immediately looked to McCoy.

“Doctor, the inflammation above my collarbone.” 

McCoy returned the alarmed look, each sharing the absolute revelation. His jaw dropped.

“Holy shit.”

“Explain,” demanded Kirk.

“He’s got very isolated, arbitrary inflammation above his collarbone, where all those strange lines are coming from. Neither of us knew what the hell it meant, but it was definitely caused by something. We just didn’t know what…but…shit, Sulu. You’re saying the toxin is administered through absorption?” 

Sulu nodded meekly, unaware of the medical halt on the doctor’s end. McCoy ran his hands through his hair.

“My God. That exactly describes his condition.” He’d spent so much time fretting about that damn collarbone, raking his mind for an answer that he couldn’t unearth, and out of the damn _ether,_ Sulu had the answer under a hot lamp in his quarters. 

“Fascinating,” said Spock under his breath. A massive weight released from his chest, a satisfaction in solving a once unsolvable mystery. Things were becoming clear, logical in a concise manner. No questions, no fog encapsulating an infuriating riddle — only answers. Just as Spock preferred things to be.

Kirk pressed his lips together and shook his head, continuing to pace. No. He wasn’t going to just accept that Spock would die and he was supposed to allow it to happen. Idle wasn’t in his nature, hope or otherwise.

“There must be _something_ we can do,” he whispered intensely, speaking out loud but only conversing with Spock. He internally cursed the Vulcan as he too shook his head again.

“No, Jim,” he refuted. “There is not.”

Kirk stopped pacing and tapped the toe of his boot against the tile, his eyes on the floor, blood beginning to boil. _No._ Spock was right, of course, as usual, and Kirk accepted that he couldn’t risk the entire ship for him. Fine. But to do _nothing?_

“Gentlemen, I need a moment with my first officer,” he said without looking up. Sulu and McCoy looked at each other and simultaneously left the room, silence settling in their absence. Kirk looked up at Spock, a distress in his gaze. Spock stared back, unblinking and unbudging. How a person, primarily a human, could care for him as Kirk did, he did not know. The captain regarded Spock’s life with defensiveness and respect, the answer why being the one mystery Spock could never solve. 

“Why can’t we talk about this?” asked Kirk, finally.

“The best alternative for the ship is for us to do nothing.”

“Spock,” he closed the gap between them. “You’re asking me to drive the stake through your heart.”

“No, I am asking you to let it happen. You need to let it happen, Jim.”

“Why are you so indifferent about your life? We are talking about _your life,_ Spock, your _existence!”_

“There is no logic is indifference to a life, you are implying that I have no care regarding the matter. It is a question of options, of which there are zero. Therefore, basking in regret is a waste of time and energy that I do not wish upon myself or you. The ship is out of mortality, Jim, that is what is impor—“

“This entire ordeal has never been just about the Enterprise! I’m not blind with joy now that I have this information, in fact, I’m pretty damn upset if you can’t tell!”

“Jim—“

“If your fate is to die, Spock, then I can’t change fate. But if that time comes, I need to be able to tell myself that I did every damn thing I could do to stop it, that I ripped my intellect to shreds to come up with a solution, that I didn’t just _allow_ it happen while I watched!”

Spock exhaled and leaned further on the desk, his depletion catching up to his body. The balance between persuading Kirk to see the logic and fighting to stay standing was becoming rather wearing. Kirk’s fingers twitched at his want to help him.

“That moon is less than three hours away, Spock,” he continued. “Why don’t we go see what’s over there?”

“Because it is a dangerous destination given to us by a dangerous alien. It emphasized that the crystal is a life source, that they _must_ have it. Likely to energize a ship, an energy source, or they themselves. There are likely inhabitants of this race near or on that moon, Jim. There would no be hope for our freshly saved crew then. This would all be futile.”

“Sulu said the entire star cluster has 100% dead readings. There’s nothing out there.”

“Our sensors would not detect them, just as they did not detect the banished aliens on D684.”

“Well why would it send us on a mission to a the exact place where it’s enemy lives? They’d know their race would either kill us or at least question us, don’t you think? They’d never even get the crystals back. It doesn’t make any logical sense, Spock, it must be dead.”

“If they had no other option, no other choice, it would be a risk they would have had to attempt.”

“But if there _is_ nothing out there, then what danger would the ship be in? It would be exactly the same as turning back around into a different uncharted sector of space, only this one might save a life.”

“Jim, what could possibly be on that moon that could alternate this? There will not be a box laid on the surface with the antidote, labelled, waiting for us.”

“Easy with the sass, Spock, your human’s showing,” muttered Kirk. Spock raised an eyebrow. “It’s three hours away, Spock. That’s a snap in the eyes of space. It would be illogical _not_ to go.”

“I would not go to such lengths as that, Captain.”

“There is no stable foundation in why we should not go there.”

Spock’s elbow buckled and he faltered down, but Kirk quickly grabbed his arms and eased him into the seat. He bore his eyes into Spock’s, his emotion transferring into the gap between them. His fear for the loss of Spock’s life was monumental, every indicator another reason in Kirk’s desire to save him. Spock’s shoulder sunk.

“If this is what you choose to do, I will not fight you on it. I only remind you that the moment our ship is in any perceptible field of danger, you immediately abandon this notion without hesitation.” 

“I know, Spock. I have the ship’s best interest in mind, too. But I also have your best interest in mind.” He gave him a small smile. “You must have known I wouldn’t just accept what you and Sulu had to say to me.”

“Yes, I knew. Just as you knew I would refute what your response would be.”

Kirk’s smile grew and he scoffed. Heartache settled in his stomach. How it came to be that this Vulcan would be his first officer, his _best_ officer, and his friend…he did not know. And how it came to be that this Vulcan, who was supposed to live well past 150 Earth years, was to inherently lose his life at hardly 35…well, it was completely unacceptable. He wouldn’t allow it.

“Stay here, Spock. Don’t strain yourself.” He took a few steps back and breached the doorway. “We’re gonna pick up speed.”

Kirk left him alone and strode out the doors into the hallway. He walked briskly past McCoy and Sulu, each staring after him as he threw over his shoulder, to their excited approval,

“Let’s punch it.”


	17. Hope is the Currency of the Damned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up -- this one is a little rough.

Spock sat at his desk, alone with the silence. His thumb brushed across the the base of the microscope. The mystery was solved, their questions answered. It’s presence was technically no longer needed. He hadn’t moved since Kirk dashed to the bridge 20 minutes ago, the captain’s blood pumping with a new hope. Spock did not share his euphoria.

Pressure had filled his chest, a constant ripping of pain scraping down his torso and left arm. He’d tried meditating, focusing as greatly as he could to access the part of his mind where everything but his thoughts were blind. Focus, however, was impossible. The raw pain was simply too distracting. 

_“You need to lay down, Spock,”_ McCoy had told him. “ _Rest. Don’t strain yourself.”_

Spock glanced behind him to the biobed. Spock knew, with logic and intuition, that he did not have long to live. It would seem wrong to lie in bed, waiting for it. It was because of this that he did not move from the desk, the act of sitting before the microscope giving him the impression of productivity. He sighed and gripped his arm, waiting for a harsh tremor to pass. He didn’t realize he had clenched his eyes shut until McCoy’s voice entered the blackness.

“Spock,” it prodded gently. “I can put you out until we get to that moon.”

Back when things were episodic and predictable, McCoy had barely seen Spock so much as wince. To now see agony so clearly etched on the Vulcan’s face, for hours and days without break, gave the doctor a different kind of pain. As he expected, however, Spock shook his head and forced his eyes open.

“No, Doctor, thank you, but, I would prefer to stay awake.”

McCoy exhaled slowly and sat on the edge of the desk. He didn’t know what he should do or what he should say. There was an atmosphere of knowing, between both of them. Kirk couldn’t accept it. McCoy knew he couldn’t. As a doctor, though, McCoy himself could. Perhaps, somewhere deep in his heart, there was a frayed string that clinged to hope. A hope that _something_ could save Spock. Yet the likelihood of his survival was immeasurably small, and dwelling on the impossible was unwise. 

He had his arms crossed as he considered this, when from the corner of his eye, he saw Spock lean forward and grip the desk. McCoy immediately looked down at him and saw his skin turn several shades paler.

“Spock?” he pushed off the desk and lifted a hand to put on Spock’s shoulder, but stopped himself. It hovered for a few moments before dropping to his side.

“Nausea?”

Spock barely managed “perhaps” as his insides spun and something stabbed in his chest. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he had absolutely no care for specifics, he just wished for it to pass. The pressure that was on his chest increased and he groaned, gripping the desk tighter.

The doctor wanted to suggest a hypo, but knew it would only be a waste of time. Suddenly Spock jerked forward, his breaths coming ragged and forced. A heavy immersion of heat sunk into the whole of his body and coated over his lungs, his chest tightening as air came sparingly. His flesh felt like it was on fire, his lungs clenched and protesting, and he registered that he was not breathing. _Do not panic,_ he told himself. _Do not panic. Your body will not breath if you panic._

McCoy saw something dire flicker in Spock’s eyes and like a flip of a switch, at the sight of him straining for air, fear gripped the doctor. Spock’s body twitched and the Vulcan’s mouth opened in a startled fear.

“Spock!” McCoy didn’t hesitate this time when he put his hand on Spock’s shoulder, leaning down into the Vulcan’s face. His skin was turning grey.

In a shaky attempt to do something _,_ Spock half lifted himself from the desk and immediately collapsed to the floor. His lungs constricted and his vision was starting to blacken. He saw hardly anything other than the air he couldn’t inhale. McCoy grabbed his shoulders, not bothering to pay mind to his intoxicated wound, and fell with him to the ground. Spock started shaking as he tried gasping desperately for oxygen, his mouth open in horrible silence. 

McCoy knew he needed to do something, _now,_ or their journey to the moon would soon be pointless. He frantically listed through his brain what could be happening so he could conceive a solution — internal bleeding? Failing organs? Collapsed lung? 

McCoy’s heart pounded painfully against his ribs as he gently pushed against Spock’s shoulder and laid him on the floor. He rose quickly and bolted to the wall cabinet beside the bed. He almost tripped as he dashed over and ripped the doors open, throwing unseen objects onto the floor before snatching at the oxygen mask. He raced back and dropped to his knees, trying to focus on the mask versus the desperation in Spock’s eyes. 

“Breath, Spock, listen to me.” He pressed it against his skin, but it wasn’t taking effect. Spock’s neck arched against the floor and any color that remained drained away. “ _Breath, dammit!”_ His voice was punctuated with fear. He half lifted Spock to position his lungs to have more room to expand, his body feeling far lighter than it was supposed to. Though the oxygen mask had the ability to attach itself to a patient, McCoy pressed against it anyway. It wasn’t functioning with Spock, Spock wasn’t breathing, his body was twitching, and McCoy was beginning to fill with panic and dread. His elbow hit the desk as he discarded the mask and pushed against where Spock’s lungs ought to be. He knew it was a futile attempt.

Spock’s rigid body slackened and his head started to fall backwards. He was instinctively fighting to breath, fighting to stay with reality, but his life was suffocating away. He pushed further into the doctor’s arms as he failed to fight his collapse. He felt a few numb successions of movements, like someone was shaking him, but the further darkness came over him, the less painful everything felt. It was calling to him, appealing to his trapped agony. The fight of his consciousness dimmed away and he fell completely limp into the doctor. His breathless gasping ceased. His head hung loose over McCoy’s arm.

“ _Spock!”_ McCoy’s voice broke as he shook him again, but the Vulcan was lifeless.

McCoy’s arm shot up and hit the surface of the desk, his fingers clawing for the box of needles that resided only inches away. He grunted as he lunged his arm towards it, his hand finally tipping it towards him, and he tore for a fallen needle before positioning it above Spock’s side. He gulped and held it in a clenched fist. It was a reckless chance he was taking; Vulcan’s had very specific organ placement, and his assumption of a collapsed lung may be wrong. He didn’t even know which lung had failed.

There was no other option. 

The needle came down forcefully, piercing into Spock’s side and puncturing past his ribs. McCoy snatched the scrapped mask and reapplied it, activated the airflow, and the musical noise of Spock coughing violently filled the room. His eyes snapped open and he feebly grabbed McCoy’s forearm as he gasped in the parching air. He strained involuntarily with each intake, fits of coughing and gasping interrupting a smooth inflow. 

“Breath, you green bastard, breath!” McCoy growled, his eyes wet with both horror and relief. Spock finally fell weakly into him, his chest heaving but his lungs functioning. Consciousness was hardly more than a feral instinct, his awareness and clarity captured in thick wax. His body took over a lethargic mind, inhaling, exhaling, keeping awake. Every fiber of energy he had possessed evaporated. His only perceptions were blurs of colors and a low, filtered buzzing that filled his ears.

“God dammit, Spock,” whispered McCoy shakily. They sat in their heap on the floor, each catching their breaths. His hand was still on the mask, cramping at the intense grip he had on it. He pried his fingers away. How was he going to watch Spock die? He knew it was coming; it was inevitable. It was closing in with each passing minute. Somehow he’d been able to scare it away this time, but Spock’s end was coming for him. McCoy blinked and a tear rolled down his face, his panicked fear dissipating away.

He was barely conscious. His forehead was against McCoy’s upper arm, eyes half closed. The fight for air settled into quiet, erratic inhales. McCoy swallowed to try and find his voice.

“Chapel!” he finally yelled. “Chapel, I need you!” 

She didn’t answer. Wasn’t she just down the hall? He let out a loud sigh of despair.

“CHAPEL!” 

Her heels clicked rapidly against the tile and she darted into the room, catching the doorframe to stop her momentum. She froze for two seconds and ran to his side.

“What happened?”

“Spontaneous pneumothorax, I think. He’s really out of it. Help me get him up.” His adrenaline was still high, peaked, and he couldn’t hear the quaking of his voice. Chapel could.

He snaked his arm under Spock’s neck as they each lifted a side. The monitor beeped awake as they set him down, and Chapel couldn’t help herself as she gasped.

“Doctor, the K3 reading…!”

McCoy’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto the diagram. Spock’s K3 level, the heart, was dangerously below the critical line. Simultaneously and without a word, they grabbed his shirt and lifted it over his head. It fell forgotten to the floor.

McCoy felt like his insides shriveled and clattered to the bottom of his feet. The venomous markings had infiltrated further down his side, the blue webs circling around where his heart was. The skin had turned a sickening mix of black and violet, the sight itself beckoning for Spock’s end. 

Something different stirred in McCoy’s mind, a feeling placed at the back of his head.

He knew he was standing in the doorway. The doctor turned around and met the paralyzed eyes of Kirk. Kirk’s expression plainly extracted his shock from the scene before him, the oxygen mask, the greyed complexion, the shuddering breaths, the damning painting over Spock’s heart. He said nothing, and McCoy turned back to Spock. The Vulcan’s eyes roamed aimlessly on the ceiling, his blinking sluggish. McCoy placed a hand on his arm.

“Spock?”

The Vulcan blinked a few times, slowly, until each opening of his eyes had becoming sparing. His head began to loll to the side. 

“Spock,” he gave him a small shake. Fearing for death to come for him again, he glanced at his heart rate — it wasn’t dropping like he thought. Nevertheless, Spock’s eyes closed and he finally succumbed into unconsciousness. The doctor retracted his hand.

Kirk silently entered the room and stepped up beside his friend, his sad eyes looking down at his officer. 

“There’s nothing I can do, Jim,” murmured McCoy apologetically. 

“I know, Bones.”

Chapel looked between them, her hands held together in front of her chest. “I’m going to send a report to M’Benga. Maybe it’ll do some good.” She swiftly left the room. McCoy shook his head once and let out a glum chuckle. Both he and Chapel knew contacting M’Benga wasn’t going to do a damn thing. 

“What happened?” asked Kirk quietly.

“Collapsed lung. He couldn’t breath.”

He trailed to the cabinet where the strewn items were, picking up a few cotton pads and a small bottle. Silently, he wiped the puncture wound on Spock’s side and placed a bandage over it, a soft green circle fading up shortly after. Beaten, he tossed the supplies back onto the floor without care. 

“He’s going to die, Jim.”

“Don’t,” Kirk warned. “Don’t say that, Bones.”

“Look at him.”

He flicked his eyes back to Spock, weak and depleted. Almost a quarter of his body was covered in an alien’s damnation. _He’s going to die, Jim._

“I’m not going to accept that,” he whispered angrily. “I came down here to tell you and Spock that we’re almost there…Scotty pushed the engines. 30 minutes. Keep him alive for 60.”

“I don’t know what you’re expecting to find, Jim.”

“I don’t know either, Bones,” he shot back. “Something. Anything. Even a pile of dust will suffice, because then I’ll have visual and visceral proof that there’s nothing I could have done.” Spock was his greatest ally, his greatest vice on that ship. Loosing him would break him.

“I can’t let him die, Bones. I can’t.”

“Jim, that’s why I’m trying to be blunt with you.” McCoy turned towards him, his face turned in conflict. “We can go to that moon, poke around and see what’s so damn important about this place, but Spock and I both know it’s not going to do any good. I don’t want you to think that he has a chance when he doesn’t…I don’t want it to devastate you.”

“It _will_ devastate me, Bones, that’s my point. I can’t let him die.” A lump formed in his throat and he blinked away threatening tears. He hung his head and looked away from them both.

“He is going to die, Jim,” McCoy emphasized slowly, his voice gentle but firm. Dealing with devastation to grieving loved ones of a patient was something he was experienced with, something he grew to deal with, but doing so with both Kirk and himself was a heavy burden. He knew when someone was going to die, and Spock was. He was particularly convinced after what just happened. Kirk slammed his hands on the bedrails and glared up at him.

“Aren’t you the damn doctor, McCoy? What the hell is the matter with you?” His face turned red, his rage building the walls of his mind, rage from what he saw in Spock’s comatose body and rage from his own helplessness. “Why am I the only one in this room who wants to save him? You, him, both of you seem so comfortable in just letting it happen. I know the two of you have had differences in the past, but dammit, I need him. How can you just accept his demise and let it happen? Who are you?”

His accusations and his pain whipped McCoy like a dagger, McCoy’s heart racing in his throat and his eyes burning. He shook his head and took a step back. He allowed the reasonable part of him to understand that his friend was lashing out from his own sorrow, that he was naive in these situations of death. McCoy, as a doctor, had to teach himself how to accept it, how to understand that death happens to all who live. To understand that time and age wasn’t a plea that death heard.

“I don’t want him to die, Jim,” he said. “Believe me. I do not want him to die.” His voice had regained it’s shake. Kirk held his gaze and slouched into his grasp on the bed. He sighed audibly.

“I know, Bones. I know that. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He sludged over to the desk and dropped into one of the chairs, holding his face in his hands. McCoy wavered, then did the same. He took the chair opposite him. Together, they sat in silence, the only thing heard being the airflow from Spock’s mask and and the quiet beeping of the monitor beside him.


	18. Prospects of Doubt or Denial

“Arrival in seven minutes, sir.” 

“Thank ya, laddie.”

Scotty stood beside the empty captain’s chair, his arms crossed and his foot tapping. Prior to the captain heading off to sickbay to inform it’s occupants of the quicker arrival, he’d put Scotty in charge. Up until the search of the moon was complete, Scotty was to be helmed on that bridge. It was in sight, a ragged sphere of grey and white, the planet it orbited secured far away. It was the only planet and moon duo in the entire star cluster, a mite in a sea of pearls. 

“Looks mighty dreary, then, doesn’ it?”

“Lieutenant Commander, do you zink ve vill be able to find something?” asked Chevok, twisting around in his chair. He caught Sulu’s eye, already knowing his opinion, but he wanted to hear Scotty’s.

“I’m thinking we might find something, lad. I cannae say what,” he answered distractedly, his eyes hovering over the moon’s readings. Class M, chilly but doable temperatures. Eerily and suspiciously convenient. Had D684 had the same readings? Sulu leaned towards the young Chekov and kept his voice quiet.

“Pavel…”

“I just vant to know vat he thinks. Maybe he’s thought of somezing different.”

“It’s poison, Pavel. There’s nothing we can do.”

“Za captain zinks there might be a way.”

Sulu nodded softly and leaned back to his controls. His friend was hopeful, not wanting to accept the death of a crewmate — particularly one he looked up to. Sulu wished for Chekov to be prepared for the worst of things, but he didn’t wish to break his hope either. 

“Sir,” added Uhura. “What will we do if things go south?”

“Well, I’m supposin’ it’s just how south things were to go, don’t ya think? Look, guys, we all are wantin’ to be here, I know that much. We’ll take what hits our pies, but there doesn’t seem to be much but floatin’ dust and incinerated joy out on that moon, if yer catchin’ what I’m throwin’. I’ve gotta theory that we’re bein’ the only intelligent thing round here.”

She nodded and started to turn back in her seat, but Scotty continued.

“Now…if things _were_ to end up below the belt, we’ve got a hellova crew and a damn hellova ship, haven’t we? Keep ye hides. We’re gonna spend as much time as we can on that God forsaken thing, see if there could be just anythin’ to save our Mister Spock, because frankly, his vacancy would put me at first officer, and that’s not quite somethin’ I think I’m prepared for!” He winked at her and she cocked her head, her lips pursed in good nature.

“We don’t want you up here either, Mister Scott,” she smiled back to him.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

“I think he’s waking up, Bones.”

Spock heard a familiar voice, one that almost brought his eyes open, but the voice floated around with no direct path of emission. Perhaps he imagined it. He felt something like a want to open his eyes, but reality felt so heavy. Deep, infiltrating blackness had covered his muscles and awareness. His body had the feeling that it had been constructed by molasses.

He made another attempt to open his eyes, his sight catching a few shapes and colors before falling back into nothing. Something echoed, another voice, but the enticing pull of unconsciousness convinced him of it’s insignificance. 

“Why is he doing that? Why can’t he wake up?”

“Just give him a second, Jim.”

“Spock, wake up!”

“Jim! Give him a sec!”

There was a soft pressure on his shoulder. The voices were beginning to gain distinction, something opening in his sentience. He could not specify why, but he felt a need to heed to that command. _Wake up._ Slowly, sluggishly, he lifted his eyelids and met an intense, wide gaze of very distinctive eyes. The humming of that hazy spell rolled over him again, and he felt himself sinking back into it.

“Spock.”

It was the other man’s voice. There was the soft pressure again, there on his shoulder, and he realized someone was shaking him gently. They were prodding for his attention. 

“Why the hell can’t he keep his eyes open?”

“I don’t know, Jim, dammit, I haven’t had a damn clue about any of this horseshit since that scaly alien chucklefucking piece of space garbage welcomed itself to the bridge, so cut me some damn slack, would ya?”

Something clicked in Spock’s brain; that string of vocabulary couldn’t belong to anyone else. Doctor McCoy. His realization woken his mind, and the mention of the alien thrust him back into a vivid memory of bloodthirsty claws made of wires and electricity — the intense, blinding, suffocating white wave of pain that had sliced past his bone marrow and ripped into his jaw, his brain, the deepest parts of his soul he didn’t realize existed—

McCoy heard a sharp, jolting intake of breath come from the Vulcan. He and Kirk’s bickering ended as they snapped their heads to him, alarmed and suddenly alert. Silently, Spock opened his eyes, and McCoy knew they wouldn’t close again. He took a peek at his heart rate; irregular and fast.

“Spock?” Kirk put his hand on the rail. “Can you hear me?”

His vision sharpened and the two figures above him became clear. His senses, no longer drowned, heard the beeping of the biobed, the humming of the ship, the creak of Kirk’s elbow as he leaned closer in concern. He felt the ache of his entire body and an annoying pressure against his face. He lifted his fingers and prodded against something, a mask.

“No, no, keep that on—“ Already anticipating the action, Kirk reached out to intercept him, but McCoy put his hand on his.

“No, it’s alright, let him. I need to see if he can breath on his own or not.” 

Kirk gave him an uneasy glance, then straightened himself in agreement. Not entirely perceptive enough to follow the words of the men, Spock tightened his hand on the mask and pulled it away. Someone took it from his hand. Cautiously, he took in a quaky breath through his nose. His lungs were _burning. W_ hy were they burning? Air continued to flow, but he found total confusion in his current position. Something happened, something must’ve, but he couldn’t seem to recall.

McCoy released the breath he was holding in, a sigh of relief. He had natural airflow, good. Good.

“Can you hear what I’m saying, Spock?” McCoy repeated Kirk’s question, needing to ascertain his level of consciousness. Such severe deprivation of oxygen could easily cause complications, physically or otherwise. Another wall of relief came down as the Vulcan nodded once.

“Okay. Can you see?”

Another nod. McCoy looked to the diagrams, knowing that yes, he was in pain. There didn’t seem to be a point in asking.

“Okay. Good.”

The seconds passed by and the fire in his lungs pulled a lever in his memory. The sudden recollection of utter desperation, of the most terrifying feeling he’d ever experienced — suffocation. He hadn’t been able to breath, he had known he was going to die, right then. What had happened? He was quite plainly _not_ dead. There was only one other person in that room, this room, when the asphyxiation had engulfed him. He flicked his eyes to McCoy’s, his eyes a question, and McCoy leaned backwards at the sudden clarity in the Vulcan. The doctor tilted his head.

“Are you alright?”

It was a strange question, one that he hadn’t exactly meant to say, but Spock’s expression had gone from dazed to anomalous in half a second. For Spock, there was no repetition of what had happened, no remembrance in how every second must have proceeded or when. He only recalled the absolute lack of oxygen, and that Doctor McCoy must have been there. And now he lay, awake and alive, in that biobed. Spock continued to look at him, an almost quizzical look behind his expression, and McCoy shifted his stance.

“Spock, are you alright?”

There was a very small, hardly noticeable sharpness that accompanied his side. It was different than the constant ache of his body — it felt more, physical. Even familiar. A wound to his flesh, rather than his blood. His hand twitched as he restrained himself from inspecting it. His shoulder made a move to sit up, but then he found a hand harboring him down.

“You predicable fruitcake, I fucking knew you would do that.” McCoy firmly pushed back against him, to which Spock willingly obliged. “Say something, you’re making me nervous.” His growl contradicted the words spoken.

“When will—“ tried Spock, but the words were quickly replaced by a violent cough. The sudden fit whirled him back to that feeling, that paralyzing feeling, the gasping for air and absolute denial of it. He tried to lift himself as he continued to cough, his body shuddering, but the doctor was already prepared. He swiftly removed a hypo from his pocket and injected it into Spock’s neck, who’s lungs expanded and righted themselves. He fell back into the bed as it ceased, the taste of air never being so vital.

Kirk’s body was tensed, frozen, as he waited for McCoy to resolve the brief battle. He allowed himself to relax as Spock quieted and took in a long breath.

“When will we arrive?” Spock finally croaked, his voice broken and nearly unrecognizable. McCoy looked over to Kirk, who opened his mouth to answer, cautiously,

“We’re already here, Spock.” Spock locked eyes with him, and Kirk almost lost his breath at the direct sight of him. His appearance was bone chilling. Kirk tried to keep his face straight.

“When will we beam down?” 

It was a question both Kirk and McCoy expected. The doctor unpocketed his scanner and skimmed around Spock’s temples with a sigh.

“You’re not going anywhere, sunshine.”

Spock stared up at him. He was about to refute it, but realized appeasing to his captain would be a more effective course of action. Quarreling with McCoy was a waste of precious breath.

“Captain?” he asked, expecting his friend to assumably side with him. Kirk just shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Spock. You’re too weak. It would be…irresponsible for us to take you.”

“Jim…the sole reason for our ship being here is because of me.” He paused as he had to cough again, but the hypo seemed to successfully settle in his throat and he felt his voice gain strength. “After the discovery given to us by Sulu, we should have warped away and continued on Starfleet’s navigations. You insisted we advance to the moon because of me.”

Kirk exhaled as he held his look, silently conversing his apologies and his firmness in the matter. His first officer had never, ever look so appalling. It was a shocking and very persuadable reason for him to stay right here on the ship, in medical. 

Kirk, of course, had no desire to let Spock out of his sight. He had considered taking him, against logic itself, but McCoy’s rendition of what had happened half an hour ago convinced him otherwise. Straining the Vulcan could be his execution. 

“Captain,” tried Spock, “the safety of everyone on this ship is compromised due to my personal circumstances. I am far from prime health, obviously, and I see no further harm that could come to me by accompanying you.”

“Listen, Spock,” McCoy answered for Kirk. “You’re not coming. And I know you understand why.”

Spock swallowed and looked up at the ceiling he had become so familiar with. He knew the argument was fruitless, however he had to attempt it. He turned his head back to the men when Kirk’s communicator chirped.

“Transporter room to Kirk.”

Kirk glanced over to Spock, his heart skipping a beat. He was about to beam down in hopes of finding something that could help his friend, but an irrefutable part of him feared his return would find Spock to be dead already.

“Kirk here.”

“Sir, we’re ready for you and Doctor McCoy.”

“We’re on our way.”

He clicked the device shut and prepared himself to leave the Vulcan. He would be with Chapel, whom Kirk trusted irrevocably, but the nurse could only do so much to prevent the inevitable.

“I request that I at least accompany you to the transporter room.”

Kirk raised his eyebrows, almost amused, at Spock’s sudden ask. He opened his mouth to answer, but McCoy cut him off.

“You can come to the transporter room when tribbles give vocal dissertations on generalized quantum mechanics. Chapel! Come in here, please!”

“Doctor,” argued Spock, stifling a cough. “The transporter room is not far. Allow me to come with you, and Nurse Chapel can ensure my safe return to this exact biobed. My most recent incident has not effected my legs. There is no logical reason to confine me here.”

“Yeah, no logical reason at all, Spock, expect, ya know, you’re _dying!”_

“Bones,” Kirk said softly. “Let him come.” McCoy slowly turned his head to stare at the captain, his eyes bugging and his mouth open.

“What?”

“Let him come.”

Kirk had reasons; _-A walk could freshen his mind. -If he’s baited to die, he has the right to spend his time as he chooses._ - _Should it be my last time with him, I want to see him until the very last possible moment._ He didn’t want to say any of it out loud, as if the audible recognition would finalize it, and he instead gave him the simple reply. 

“Dammit. Damn you both. I hate you, you bunch of worms. Why did I leave Earth? Chapel, me and Kirk are about to beam down, and this green bloodsucker wants to see us off. Because, obviously, an uninhabited moon is the equivalent of being shipped off to nuclear war. So, you get the honor of walking his Vulcan ass back to this biobed. And Spock, if I hear that you didn’t crawl right back here in an extremely obedient manner, I personally will kill you with the dullest butter knife I can find.” He threw his hands over his head angrily and stepped up to the bed impatiently. Chapel bit her lip to stop a smile and nodded her understanding. He took another dramatic inhaled and groaned.

“Alright, well, let’s see if you can even walk,” he grumbled bitterly. Spock eyed his outstretched hands, to which McCoy responded with thrown up eyebrows; _you don’t have a choice, you Vulcan artichoke_. Spock grabbed his forearms and McCoy eased him up slowly until he was standing, leaning against him with a subtle tremble. McCoy was very disapproving of this situation and he cursed himself for agreeing to it.

To his surprise, however, Spock stood tall. Kirk came around and gestured forward, McCoy happily transferring the Vulcan over to him. Spock didn’t wish for assistance at all, but he had no trust in his body and accepted the captain’s arm to use as a balance. He was careful not to lean too much against him. They looked at each other, Kirk waiting for the signal, and Spock nodded. They walked out, McCoy studying his steps. He seemed stable. He exchanged a look with his nurse before they tailed after them.

“You will beam back the moment any danger is detected, Captain,” said Spock as they continued down the corridor. It was a statement, but he needed Kirk’s response as an affirmation. His voice was gravelly and hoarse, a small but unwelcome factor to the captain’s ears.

“Of course, Spock.”

“And please, Jim, try to recall that the probability of you finding anything of use is astronomically small and it is wholly acceptable to return with nothing.”

“I know, Spock.”

“And—“

“Spock,” he gave the arm he supported a small shake. “Stop worrying. I have no intention on putting myself or Doctor McCoy in danger. But, I’ve got to check. I have to.”

“I am not capable of ‘worry’, Captain, merely —“ he then sighed, realizing he was too tired to proceed with the objection. “No matter the conclusion for me, what is important is the safety of our ship. I wish you to know that I am entirely at peace with the knowledge that the Enterprise is safe.”

Kirk knew the implications, the underlying motif in Spock’s words. _I’m at peace with my death, and you should be too._

“Well let’s just see what’s down there, alright?”

Spock didn’t reply. His step faltered, just barely, and Kirk tightened his grip. They continued in silence. Chapel walked beside McCoy, her hands clasped in front of her as she took note of the duo in front of them.

“Do you think you’ll find anything down there?” she asked the doctor beside her. He exhaled and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her a squeeze.

“No.”

The transporter room doors swished open at their arrival, Scotty waiting behind the counter. His face betrayed nothing, but his breath hitched at the sight before him. For a misguided moment, he almost believed the ghastly Spock was going to join them, but the presence of the nurse reassured him otherwise.

“Gentlemen,” he acknowledged. “Shall we?”

Chapel planted herself in the doorway, a watchful eye on Spock as Kirk led him to the control panel to lean against. His insides shook, his skin felt flushed, and he was very fatigued. But he stabilized himself, needing to see the safe disappearance of his shipmates. Scotty handed them two dark jackets and they climbed up onto the pad.

“If you get me killed,” whispered McCoy as he pulled on the sleeves, “I will haunt the entirety of this ship and it’s crew. You, especially.” A small smile crossed the captain’s face.

“Don’t you think if you get killed, I likely will as well?”

“For your sake, you’d better hope so.”

Kirk fixed his eyes on Spock’s, praying that it wouldn’t be his last time. That his friend would still be breathing when he returned. If he couldn’t save him, he needed to at least be with him until the end. He would never forgive himself if he allowed him to die alone.

Spock attempted to hide his heavy breathing, his body feeling weighted. Scotty glanced over at him, he too praying for the mission’s success, and focused back on his controls.

“Weather’s a bit nippy in the arse, but no worse for wear than an Earth’s autumn. Small storm brewin’ in the lower sector, far from ya, bearing 8.9 by 7.0, blowin’ up the cold breeze. Shouldn’t have to worry about more than dust in the wind, lads. Are ye ready?”

Kirk looked away from Spock and gave the engineer a nod.

“Energize.”

Scotty pulled up on his levers and programmed his chosen coordinates, activating the sequence and looking up to wait for the two men to disappear. The nuance of the light to tube over the metallic plates and fade men away became something very routine to him, and he waited patiently for it to arrive. 

But, it did not come.

He scrunched his eyebrows together and looked down at his controls in bafflement. _What in the devil…?_

Spock felt something blossom in the center of his chest, light and soft. It was surprising, even jarring, but not painful. It was a completely foreign sensation. The back of his gut started to feel icy, crisp, and his fingers began to tingle. He leaned over in mild surprise, startled and unsure if it was another attack.

“Jim…” he started, gripping the control panel as the strange feeling continued to spread into his body. 

Kirk, looking at Scotty in question of the transporter malfunction, suddenly felt complete dread at the mention of his name. Slowly, as if time had forgotten it’s own nature of discourse, he turned to look at the Vulcan who said it. He saw it happening, saw the impracticability, the beginning of something horrific, the _last thing Kirk could possibly want,_ before Spock even registered it. He took a hesitant and shocked step forward.

“ _Spock!”_  

Distracted by his panel, Scotty jerked his head up at the captain’s horrified cry. He pivoted to look at the Vulcan, who, against the engineer’s sense, was beginning to vanish. Stunned and weakened, Spock fell to his knees, his body further gaining opacity.

Kirk leapt off the pad as Spock fell, his mind refusing to believe what was so clearly happening. He dropped in front of Spock and grabbed his shoulders, needing the physical contact with him to anchor the Vulcan to the ship. To bring Kirk with him to wherever his friend was being taken. To Kirk’s absolute terror, his hands remained moored while Spock’s face started to fade away. Spock’s eyes met his, and a Kirk’s blood turned cold. Those eyes, evocatively calm, had a look of despondency, acceptance, and only for a very brief moment, fear.

“ _SPOCK! NO!”_

Within seconds, the fingers that gripped Spock’s shirt were suddenly empty, the space before him uninhabited. Kirk’s mouth was open, frozen, his breath lost, arms hovering where his friend was only milliseconds before. He panted out a horrified gasp as his hands shook in the air.

He was gone. Spock was gone.


	19. Variance of a Ship's Crew

Kirk was paralyzed, his eyes staring at the wall in front of him. The last look he saw in Spock’s eyes was haunting him. There was a soft click of McCoy’s boot as he took a single step down from the platform. Kirk rose, stunned, and turned to face him. Shock was written in the lines of the doctor’s face. The silence of the room was smothering; not a soul knew what to do, what action to take.

No one except for Captain Kirk.

In a rapid transformation, Kirk’s face morphed from one of confusion and shock, to that of a dangerous fury. He had been _touching_ him. His hands, pressed against Spock’s shoulders. Why hadn’t he gone with him? Why hadn’t that transporter beam taken Kirk? And _who’s_ beam was it? Rage encompassed his veins, his eyes lethal. He subconsciously brushed his fingers together — he had felt the fabric of Spock’s sickbay shirt, the Vulcan only inches in front of him. And as he disappeared, Kirk’s own hands unaffected, his fingers suddenly felt nothing. 

“Where is he?” he demanded.

“I—I dunno, sir, that beam—“

“The moon, Mr. Scott, are there any lifeforms? A _Vulcan_ lifeform? Is there a ship around here? Any abnormalities in spacetime? A disturbance in gravitational waves? Check the damn scanners, Scott, God dammit, I need to find him!”

“Sir…there’s nothing!” He swiped at the display on the control panel, his eyes wide and his head shaking. “It’s as dead as when we came up on it. There’s nothing.” There was no malfunction in the panel, no oddity of the ship. Scotty’s shoulders sunk. He had so desperately wanted to save the first officer. They all had. To have come so far, discovered so much…and he was just, gone. Vanished. 

“I’m not giving credit to that, Scotty. _Something happened to him.”_

“Jim…” McCoy took the last few steps off the pad, his mouth open as he tried to find the words.

“McCoy, I swear, if you’re going to suggest there’s nothing we can do, so help me God—”

“No, Jim,” his brow furrowed in a pained expression. “That’s not…I don’t think that at all. Until I personally declare him dead, he’s as alive to me as he is to you. I was going to say that we’ve got to find him. Dead or not.”

Kirk swallowed and held his gaze. He nodded.

“You’re right, Bones. We’re going to. Scotty, are there any other surfaces within beaming distance?”

“None, Captain. The planet it’s goin’ round is too far, and there innit any other objects in the entire cluster. Jus’ this moon.”

“Good. That narrows things down quite a bit, doesn’t it?” He immediately walked past McCoy and retook his place on the transporter pad. “If he had been beamed into space, we would know.” He pulled down on his jacket and squared his shoulders. McCoy looked at him in bewilderment, and Kirk looked back expectantly.

“Are you coming?”

McCoy blinked once and joggled his head, mildly surprised. He stepped up beside him.

“Well, where do ye want me to put ye, Jim?!” Scotty asked incredulously. “That there moon is two times bigger than our Earth one, you cannae jus’ walk around in hopes of finding him!”

“Well,” replied Kirk softly, “I’m not going to stay here, Scotty.” It was simple. Scotty finally nodded his head.

“Understood, sir…”

“You’ve still got the conn, Scotty. If anything were to go wrong, we’ll contact you. If we don’t contact you, Bones and I will have 24 hours to return to the beam-down location. And if we don’t return, or you smell _anything_ suspicious… _leave._ The ship’s safety trumps ours, got it? It’ll end up being a nightmare of paperwork you’ll have to administer to Starfleet, but, nothing you can’t deal with, right?”

“Alright, Jim,” he answered, quiet. 

“Energize.”

Scotty watched the two of them filter out and disappear, just as they were supposed to minutes before. Christine took a few steps into the room and resided beside him. He looked down to his radar, procedure being to check the safe relocation of beamed individuals. Following logic, there should be two small blue dots on the map he now looked at, detailing that two humans were on the surface of an otherwise dead moon.

There were no two blue dots. In fact, there was nothing, just as there was nothing prior to the transporter being activated. Scotty’s eyes bulged and his hands shot to his controls, pounding at systems to find some kind of error, a mistake. Christine’s heart plummeted at his frantic movements.

“What is it?”

“They’re bloody gone! The scanner’s tryin’ to tell me there’s nothin’ down there, that they’re not anywhere on the blasted thing!”

“What does that mean?” she dared. Fear filled her, fear for her good friend and mentor, and for her captain. She’d already accepted that Spock wouldn’t live, she had come to terms with it. But Leonard? She couldn’t find the courage to go to work every day without him bumbling around, growling under his breath one second and laughing the next.

“They’re not there, Chapel! Aw, crivvens, what’s the damn curse that’s got this blasted crew? Shite!” he expertly swiped past pages and diagrams on his display, flipping through every conceivable radar and index for _any_ sign of the two men he just condemned. It was as if nothing alive had ever stepped on that surface.

“Scott to landing party, come in, landing party.”

Silence.

“Jim! Are ye there?!”

Nothing, not even the privilege of static. His hands dropped slowly from the panel and he wavered, his face fallen. He looked on to the empty transporter pad.

“Oh, my God.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Oh, my God!”

McCoy’s jaw dropped open. The dry dirt and rock crunched under his feet as he turned in a full circle, his eyes feeling disconnected from his brain.

“Jim, I thought this moon was supposed to be dead.” His words came out in a hollow echo.

“It…was.”

Things which were similar to trees covered the landscape before them, condensing into a forest that seemed to be a backdrop rather than reality. Mountains as high as the sky scattered the horizon, craters larger than buildings secreted into sporadic spots across the ground. The canopy of the trees were sprinkled with dense bush-like plants, the texture bleeding together like oil rather than leaves, mixing one with the other, distinction impossible. Perhaps it could have passed for a sister of Earth, but the palette of the entire moon was completely monochrome. The dirt was a soft grey, the trees charcoal and black, the blended canopy a creme like what Kirk used to sweeten his coffee. Colossal white rocks snugged against the base of the mountains. The only color in sight was the gold and blue of the men’s shirts, peeking out from their black jackets.

“What the devil is this place?”

“I don’t know, Bones. It’s not what our scanners thought it’d be. Kirk to transporter room. Scott, come in.” 

He was answered with nothing, and he shared a troubled look with McCoy.

“Scotty, come in.”

“Is it on?”

“Yes, of course it’s on, McCoy. Dammit!” He yelled out in frustration and shoved the device back to his belt. He placed his hands on his hips and considered things for a moment, his eyes observing. McCoy scoffed and grabbed at a handful of dirt.

“Is this a joke?”

“This isn’t…well. Actually. This isn’t bad…” started Kirk, bobbing his head and placing his hand on his chin. “This actually is almost good.”

“Good?! Have you lost your damn mind?!”

“Bones, this means that life on this moon is invisible to our scanners. We checked the surface over countless times in countless ways and we saw _nothing._ We have cameras capable of viewing the surface in absolute clarity, and we saw hardly anything more than a few rock formations and dust devils. I mean,” he laughed and gestured out to the landscape before them. “Look at this!” 

“Well tickle my grandmother’s dog, I’m just _so_ overjoyed that you’re out of your wits, Jim!”

“ _Bones!_ Life is invisible to our scanners! That could mean that even though we couldn’t Spock down here, he might still be here! He’s got to be!”

“Jim,” McCoy rubbed his jaw. “Even if we _could_ find Spock, somehow, in this twisted mess, how are we going to get back onto the ship? We have no contact!”

“Well we’ve got 24 hours, don’t we? Time’s tickin’, doc. We’d better get moving.”

“Christ, Jim. Where the hell should we go?”

Kirk scanned the land, attempting to think like his first officer might in a situation like this. They were in the middle of a valley, mountains surrounding every side of them. Venturing into mountain territory would swallow time with the battle of elevation, so that’s illogical. Behind them was barren, empty all the way back to the curvature of the rocky mountain range. There was no sign of anything in that direction. Illogical. Before them, a mile away, was the forest. The only indicator of flourishing life on this moon.

“We go there.” He lifted his hand and pointed. Taking in a long, lengthy breath, McCoy sighed and cracked his head. Seemed to be their only option.

“Well, we ain’t gettin’ any younger.”

They slid down the small hill they’d beamed on, dirt kicking up behind them, and traveled forward. As they neared the forest, the ground beneath them began to soften with the presence of chalky grass that sprouted flat circles rather than blades. The ground plants thickened as they came upon the massive charcoal trunks. Now that they were nearer, they saw the the trunks were lined vertically with thin silver plants that beckoned out from the bark, threaded in and out between each other. They stopped before breaching the forest, an apprehension eating at them both.

“I don’t know what we’re going to find in there, Bones. At this point, your joining me is not under order. I won’t make you come with me.”

“Save it for the jury, Jim. I’m coming with you.”

Kirk nodded with a small smile. “Good. Set your phaser to stun.”

“My phaser?”

“Yes, McCoy. We may or we may not be venturing into a potential enemy’s territory, and we need to be ready. It’s only to stun, but I’ll need you to be prepared to use it.”

“Alright, fine, fine.” 

He pulled out his phaser and switched it to stun, the little red light appearing as it armed itself. He looked at it dubiously before sticking it back to his hip. They walked forward, past the gargantuan trunks, and were forced into the magnitude of their insignificance. The trees were looming, filling the men’s visions and surrounding them completely. Silvery vines lined the ground and braided beneath their feet.

Kirk attempted to calculate how much daylight they may have, and what their options would be when night fell. Light filtered down through the canopy, decorating the plants and their shoulders with fickled beams. It was the light of a cataclysmic supernova, lightyears away, that lit the moon and it’s planet. The orbit time of the moon, offhandedly, Kirk did not know. It was a question he’d normally ask Spock.

Hours passed, words hardly shared as they each roamed between the trees with squinted eyes. There was nothing, no indication that anything but flora resided there. The rustling of plants, the chill of the breeze, the crunch under their feet, and nothing of clue to their first officer.

“What an absurd few days this has been,” observed McCoy dryly, his words dripping with disdain. He heard Kirk puff out a laugh beside him.

“That’s an understatement.”

“There’s no sign of intelligent life out here. Or even primal life…just, plants.”

“Which I find to be a little bizarre. All these trees, plants, obviously flourished with life…but no animals of any kind? And is it just me, or is this moon entirely colorless?”

“Nope, definitely not just you. It’s a grey scale around here.” A soft breeze weaved through the trunks. “You know, Spock may not even be on this moon at all, Jim. Its already been four hours.” He looked over to his friend, and Kirk sighed.

“I know, Bones. I know the odds are against us. But he was beamed _somewhere_ , he didn’t just dematerialize into nothing. Like I said, if he were beamed out into open space, we would have picked that up on our scanners. The physics of space are uniform in every direction, in every sector, every galaxy. This particular moon, however…whatever components it’s made of, our scanners simply can’t read it correctly. It’s somehow hidden. That’s not physics, that’s just scientific stagnation.”

“It could make sense, alright? Spock could be here. Maybe he is, which is why I agreed to hike through this unnerving graveyard of black trunk monsters and sparkling plants. But…” He released something of a scoff and a laugh. “I mean, we’re totally goin’ blind here, Jim! We don’t have a plan, we’re just…waltzin’ around, hoping to stumble across something.”

“I know, Bones.” Kirk stopped walking and massaged the back of his neck. “I just, don’t know what else to do. Really, I don’t.” He let out a breath and his eyes wandered to the ground, studying the little plants that sprouted beneath the big ones. “He disappeared…right in front of me.”

McCoy’s face softened. Kirk had a deep affection for Spock, he knew that. McCoy himself had been horrified at Spock’s disappearance, but his friend Jim Kirk…likely devastated. The respect between the two of them, the palpable and oddly connected relationship they shared was one not often achieved with a Vulcan. McCoy’s heart broke with Kirk’s. He directed his sight onto a nearby tree.

“I was touching him, Bones,” continued Kirk. He lifted his hand up to eye his palm. “I felt him vanish.”

McCoy inhaled loudly through his nose and bounced on his feet. “Ya know, I wonder what makes these trees look like that. Never quite seen anything like it. I mean, the trunks are massive. Real big. And they’re not just black, but, almost a matte black, completely devoid anything _but_ black. Ya know?”

Kirk raised his eyebrows, staring at his friend in tired amusement as he forgot the memory of Spock’s chilling expression. “Find something that interests you?”

“I bet that’s not even bark,” he theorized as he caught Kirk’s attention, walking up to the tree. He placed his hand against it, brushing it down against the surface. It felt glossy beneath his skin, sturdy. 

“Well when am I ever wrong? Just as I thought, Jim. It’s not bark. It’s…well hell if I know, but it’s smooth, Jim! Like a table.”

“A table, doctor?” he clarified dryly.

“Yeah. Like a table. Tables don’t feel like the tree they once were, now do they?”

“McCoy, where the hell are you going with this?”

“I’m just settling in with my surroundings, Jim. Besides, I’m curious. This is a strange, strange place you’ve marooned us to. And Spock would have a fit if we didn’t at least take a few observations.” He looked back at him and arched an eyebrow, to which Kirk rolled his eyes and hung his head.

“You’re such a drama queen, Bones.”

“Well, now, what makes you say that?”

“Just tell me you want to find Spock too, and we can skip the whole off-putting tree stroking thing.”

The doctor laughed and shrugged, dropping his hand from the tree. “Alright, whatever you say, dear.” He swung his foot around, away from the tree, but he froze when the corner of his eye caught the sight of something. He looked down, there at the base of the trunk, and his humored mind went dead. His sudden change of posture was clear and Kirk stepped forward.

"What?”

“Come here, Jim.”

“What is it?”

“ _Come here.”_

_“_ Agh,” Kirk started up towards the tree. “For the love of God, just tell me what —“ The words were lost in his throat as he came upon the doctor and followed his pointed finger, his eyes traveling to what was nestled between the roots.

Poking out from the ashy dirt was a cluster of barely visible, sparkling crystals. They were clumped together, poised to never be separated, pointing in all directions like an urchin of the sea. A ray of light fell down upon them and they flashed sparkles of electric blue and pure white. Kirk knelt down in awe, his knee hitting the dirt. _Are those…?_

_“_ …The crystals?” he finished out loud.

“I’ll be damned. Well…it sure seems like it, Jim. I half figured they’d be gnomed inside rocks or boulders, but, under a tree…”

Kirk slid his fingers under the dirt, feeling the grains slide down between his fingers. He used his thump to swipe away a patch from the crystals, and they glimmered in response. He just shook his head, his eyes mesmerized by their glint. All of this, everything that has happened…because of these. Spock tortured and hung to die, because Jim refused to come find these. Spock poisoned, agonized, and tricked into thinking it was because they left the course of finding _these_. Everything that his ship, himself, his first officer had gone through, completely and utterly denominized by these crystals that his fingers were currently witnessing. 

“So…what do we do?” asked McCoy. Kirk slid another hand under the dirt.

“We dig.”


	20. Left for the Muddied Dead

Consciousness was often an indefinitive, fluid term. What he was was not the lack of consciousness, but it was also not the possession of it. The soft crunch of a plant beneath his head was heard as he abstractly turned against the ground, but the noise was not realized. The occasional opening of his eyes was not purposeful, but rather instinctive, and the sideways view before him was as insignificant as consciousness itself. It was like being barely woken in the midst of a deep, heavy sleep. Stuck between two realms that your own mind authoritates.

It was only the very distant sound of a voice that pricked his ears, eyes still closed and mind even more so. After a few moments, he began to collapse back into it. He was prodded again with the sound, this time not only with his hearing, but his thoughts. His sentience rose from whatever dark pit it had been residing in and he slowly opened his eyes. Despite his precarious situation and constant aches, the first solid thought to cross him was —

_Have I become monochromatically color blind?_

He shifted his head to the side again, the crumbling of the vegetation now apparent to his ears. His eyes looked upwards, every curve of his vision filled with the merging altitudinous lines of massive trees. Novalight shimmied down from between the meshed branches, warming his face as the wind chilled his bones. He was surface-bound, then. 

It was there again, calm, casual, and almost a whisper in the air. His ears again pricked involuntarily at the noise, being the only thing to be coupled with the wind. No insects, birds, predator or prey disturbed the still silence of the forest he woke in. It was this reason that he decided the voice was real, and not his delusions, as nothing else seemed to mirage itself into such a sound. He brought his fingers together in a loose fist, testing his capacity. He was undoubtedly weak. 

Who did the voice belong to? Someone of the crew? The doctor? Jim? 

Were it whoever took him from the ship, stalking in the breadth?

Did he wish to find out either way?

Should it be the unknown being, Spock was admittedly curious. A person, perhaps persons, to have the capacity to infiltrate a starship and specifically locate him, blocking the true transporter while simultaneously diverting it to his own body, was an admirable feat. That, and the question of _why_ remained. Had they business with Spock, in any regard, were it not logical for them to be present at this exact moment? He roamed his eyes around the avenue, confirming his isolation. He was irrevocably alone.

If it were Jim, the question of investigation still remained. Death was, acceptably, inevitable. Reuniting with his friend would not alter, stop, or diminish that. It would only bring his friend an emotional pain Spock would rather spare him from. Though, that would conclude that Spock would never see him again. The only one man, the one _being,_ who had not only had the willing desire to try and understand the half Vulcan, but succeed in doing so.

There was a human component in Spock that wished to speak with him, one last time, and perhaps try and express his complete appreciation for his friendship. He recognized it was human, but not in accordance with his usual actions, he did not dismiss it. Partly because, really, it did not matter anyway. Spock did not feel the strength to discover for himself who the voice was emitting from. 

His vision was blurring in the corners, but otherwise crisp. A result of his deterioration rather than the recent unconsciousness. Something painful permanently settled under his ribs, pulsing out densely into a wide radius of his body. It was incredibly aggravating, this irksome pain that never seemed to leave him. It had proved incapacitating, bothersome, distracting, and incongruous and he was rather ready for it to be served death alongside with him. Were his pain it’s own living entity, Spock surmised he would have strangled it long ago.

“…drama queen, Bones…”

A quiet puff of surprise escaped him, his eyes widening and his hand twitching. It _was_ the captain, and the sound of his far-off, remote voice demolished his previous decision of avoiding him. Jim was here, as was the doctor, and Spock felt the irreversible need to become apparent to them, for them to find success in their search, to die as he obviously will but at the ship’s side as he was always meant to.

He rolled over to his stomach and sluggishly propped his elbows up, palms placed against the ashen dirt. He noted his skin, though sickly, was still peached with an undertone of green. Perhaps he wasn’t deficiently blinded. _Fascinating._ A gust of wind ruffled the short sleeved shirt he wore, rising horripilation from his skin. He reflected on the strange term human’s used for the effect as he pushed off the ground, groaning at the protest of his body. He came up to his knees, his hands still pressed on the ground, and let his head hang until the spurring wheel of nausea settled away. Had the hearing of human’s been as superior as Vulcan’s, he could signal for them. Bitterly, though, he realized this was not so.

Murmurs of the voice drifted, the words again indistinguishable. Distance was becoming greater between Spock and them.

He gathered the strength to bring his feet under him, standing shakily and wavering as he rose. He took a step back for balance, his back straightened and his left side screaming. 

_Pain is of the mind,_ he tried. _Block it like you can emotion._ He took a few steps forward. _Control the pain, it does not control you._ Another few steps. In rebellion of his attempts, an agonizing sharpness twisted in his chest and spiraled the length of his body. He cried out and fell against the tree beside him, allowing himself to lean heavily against it in compromise of not crumbling. Were he to collapse back to the ground, he would not be able to get back up. His breath was remarkably heavy, more obtrusive that it had been before the episode in medical. 

_Be realistic, Spock. You do not have the capability to control this. Get up anyway._

He clenched his jaw and gulped down the need to fall. Inhale slowly, exhale slowly. He quieted his lungs, closed his eyes, and turned his ear towards the wind. It was the wind only that sang to him, and nothing more.

There was barely a shake of his head. They were traveling, quickly or perhaps not, but it was nevertheless more rapid than he. His efforts may be barren and futile. Were there a statistical persuation for him to continue pushing his physical and mental limits? Would it even matter?

Unwillingly and without choice, he then had the memory of Captain Kirk’s petrified eyes. Eyes reflected in affliction and misery, stunned in mutilated horror. Eyes that disappeared, with the transporter room behind them, as Spock was forced away from his ship.

He sighed heavily, his mind and his heart as indistinguishable as ever before, and with a push off the tree, Spock began forward.

……………………………………………………..

“Sir, the storm in the lower hemisphere…it’s changed course.”

“Give me details, Lieutenant Uhura.”

“Sir, you said you believe Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy may be on the planet, right?”

“Aye…”

_“_ Well, if they are, and if they were beamed down to the coordinates you chose, then they’re in the outer passage of the storm. It seems to be a mistral type, from what I can tell, but, you said so earlier. We can’t seem to accurately read this planet, and therefore, I can’t accurately predict this storm.”

“Mistral, Lieutenant?”

“A very dry, very cold wind, sir.”

“Severity?”

“Class D. Likely moderate, if my instruments are in accordance with the reality of it.”

“Understood. Keep an eye on that bastard and keep me noted. The search probes?”

“Unable to breach the atmosphere, sir…”

“Pardon?!”

“The first one just reached orbit, and it was immediately pulled in by the gravity and abruptly combusted.”

“The bloody hell? We’d calculated the gravitation pull, it isn’ that strong!”

“It’s like you said, sir…this planet has something about it, some factor, that effectively blinds half our sensors. We’ll keep trying sir, using the ship’s visual…I’ll keep trying.”

“Aye, lass. You’re doin’ your best, I know that. I just cannae think of leaving them, wherever they are down there…”

"We still have 19 hours, Scotty. We have…. _Oh, my.”_

“…Lieutenant?”

“Sir…meteorology has just sent me a report. They’re claiming they have reason to believe the storm has…moisture. In the clouds.”

“Now that’s impossible, Uhura! The planet is completely dead, there innit any water, no moisture, nothin’. Tell meteorology to stick—“

“ _Sir, look at this!_ It’s _water,_ Scotty! The molecules here, see, one oxygen and two hydrogen!”

“ _That is damn impossible.”_

_“Look.”_

_“_ …Oh Christ…”

“Scotty, that could mean…!”

“Aye, lass! If there be previously undetected water there, there could be two certain mighty troublesome humans also previously undetected…”

“And maybe a Vulcan…sir, we can’t leave them.”

“We’re not leavin’ em lass, you needn’t worry ‘bout that. Keep your wit on that storm. Sulu, organize a few shuttles to circle the planet, utilizing visual systems. _Do not_ have them enter orbit. Chekov, you’ve shadowed Mister Spock at the science station. Get your rear up there and see if you cannae detect anymore hydrogen atoms. Focus on the surface. I’m lookin’ to see that since we cannae single out lifeforms, maybe we can single out what they’re made of. We’ve got ourselves 19 hours, lads and lasses. I want them back on this bloody ship.”

…………………………………………………………

_“_ So, what exactly are you going to do with those once we find Spock?” ventured McCoy, leaning casually against the tree’s trunk. He looked down to a kneeling Kirk. “Rub it on his forehead? Recite a mystical chant?”

“You are my least favorite person right now, McCoy,” Kirk grumbled, his hands covered in the dirt he was scraping away from the glimmering rocks.

“Well that’s humbling, Jim, but that doesn’t quite answer my ponderings.”

Kirk stopped digging and sat back on his heels, cocking his head up at the doctor with mild disdain. He imagined he’d be sweating from the exertion of digging, but the breeze was too chilling. 

“Bones. These crystals are the common denominator to everything that has happened to us in the past few days, alright? You remember how important they are. We’ve gone through hell, Spock has gone through seventeen layers of hell, because of these damned things. So I’m not gonna very well leave them here, am I? Effective or not, they’re coming and we need them. So are you gonna stand there like an oyster, or are you going to help me?”

“Ya know, when I was a kid, oysters were my favorite animal.” He smiled wryly at him, to which Kirk pursed his lips and squinted his eyes.

“Oyster’s aren’t really animals, Bones.”

“The hell you talkin’ ‘bout? ‘Course they’re animals.”

“They’re bivalve crustaceans.”

“Which are animals.”

Suddenly, a deafening crack of thunder ripped into the sky above them. They each turned their heads up, listening to the echo of it resound through the mountainous valley. McCoy eyed the dark clouds through the canopy, vocalizing what they were both thinking.

“Well, that’s bad.”

Kirk nodded. He looked back down to the crystals, half revealed in the dirt, and continued shoveling away. A few drops of rain splashed onto his face and the crystals below him. They dazzled in reply.

“I wonder what the ship is seeing…” McCoy mumbled to himself, his eyes continuing to scan the sky.

“I’ll bet what they’re feeling is a cozy heated ship with as much water and food as they want,” Kirk answered with a grunt. 

“It is getting pretty cold down here, Jim. No good for our Vulcan friend.”

He looked around, scanning the forest. The depth of field between the trunks was diminished, darkness beginning to haze the distance as clouds rolled overhead. Where it had before looked mesmerizing, albeit alien, it had now accrued an eeriness to it. McCoy felt anxiety creep into his mind. 

“I’m almost done, and we’ll keep moving.” Kirk glanced up at him, noting the worry in his face. He focused back on his digging. “Bones, I didn’t thank you for what happened in the sickbay.”

“You can’t be more vague than referencing an incident in the sickbay, Jim.”

“I’m talking about Spock.” He huffed as he scooped out a handful of forming mud from his hole. “Well, I’m talking about everything with Spock. But, more specifically, when his lung collapsed. I don’t know what…” His words were beginning to gain space between them as he thought about what he was saying. “I don’t know what that must have been like. I can’t imagine being in that situation, and, if I was, Spock would probably be dead already. So…thank you.” He didn’t see McCoy shrug.

“If anything’s gonna stop him breathing, it’s gonna be me and my juxtaposed anger.”

“Ha ha, Bones,” he articulated dryly.

“But, anyway…you’re welcome. I can tell you…well, it was the most terrified I have ever been in the entirety of my life.”

Kirk nodded to himself; he surmised the truth in the admission. He was fortunate to have McCoy in his medical bay, for anyone else would have to strive to be half as effective as him. A loud pattering gave warning to incoming rain. Kirk ignored it as his hands circled around the crystals. The majority of them were uncovered, but their spine seemed to be based under the thick roots of the tree, hidden away unseen.

McCoy wrung his hands as he did another check of the forest. _If_ Spock was alive, his vulnerable system would be pretty susceptible to the storm encompassing above and around them. The rain rolled off his jacket, some of it leaking to his shirt and darkening it with wetness. He zipped it up, wishing he could zip up his boots too. He sighed as his socks dampened, the rain continuing to chase away the shades of light. 

“Are you there yet?” He turned back to look down at Kirk, who had his right hand wrist deep under the roots. His free hand was braced up against the trunk.

“Yup,” he answered with strain, leaning further into the ground. His fingers prodded against the spine of the crystals, connected sturdily to the tree. Perhaps if he twisted and pulled enough, they’d break free. He hadn’t a knife, and he also hadn’t much time. Mud began to sludge into the freshly dug hole. He shifted himself, readied his grip, and pulled.

His heart jumped in his throat as previously concealed roots barreled out from under the dirt and whipped around Kirk’s forearm. He cried out in surprise as they tightened and slithered rapidly up to his bicep, tugging him so his face pressed against the tree. They were thick and dense, an inch in circumference. Instinctively, Kirk flung his free hand away from the trunk and clawed at the invasive roots, trying as he could to rip them away. McCoy immediately bent down and did the same, but then his blood ran cold at the sound of Kirk’s scream.

In protest, the roots had slid easily into the captain’s flesh, like a knife through butter. 

McCoy scrambled for his phaser, trying desperately to halt the attack, but Kirk was yanked further into the ground. He screamed again as they tethered together beneath his skin, pulling until his elbow was fully swallowed into the hole. McCoy’s weapon was trained on Kirk, the root’s hoarding his arm from the surface. His body jerked as he was tugged forward, further into the dirt. He was prone on the ground, mud sloshing under him as he thrashed away, using his other hand to push against the tree in an attempt to free himself. It was effortless, and he could think of nothing but the agony that was ripping apart his mind. 

McCoy quickly abandoned his phaser and grabbed under Kirk’s arms, dug the heels of his feet into the ground, and pulled. Kirk cried out at the tension, fighting, but McCoy continued to muscle against him and the attacking tree. If Kirk lost an arm in the process, _fine,_ but he was _not_ going to lose his life. The monstered tree rebelled against McCoy’s effort, evulsing Kirk forcefully forward, slowly dragging both he and McCoy through the mud. McCoy yelled out as he pulled, calling for every ounce of energy he possessed to fight it.

The harder Kirk fought, the more impassioned McCoy’s pulling became, the harder it was to breath. The air seemed thin and wispy, barely filling his chest as he screamed and fought. He was up to his shoulder under the tree, his entire arm numb with the torture. He kept his fist tight. The mud that gathered at his shoulder was tinged with a swirl of red.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

McCoy’s yell was constricted, broken with strain, and _loud._ Had Kirk imagined him saying that? He forced his head up, his face twisted in agony, and looked past the trunk that was pressed against his face. For hardly more than a second, the insensible feeling of his skin being shredded away was forgotten.

He locked eyes with Spock.

The Vulcan was running towards them, _sprinting._ He was difficult to see past the thick sheet of rain, but it was undoubtedly Spock. He was a pale figure, a ghost in the forest, and just close enough to see the distinction of his pointed ears. As soon as he forgot the pain, he was reminded of it as he was hauled further into the bloody mud.

Spock fell to his knees beside the tree, swiftly bringing both hands up to the trunk and splaying his fingers. He closed his eyes, swaying in ignored fatigue. Kirk heard McCoy yelling at him, at Spock, but he couldn’t quite hear the words. The presence of the Vulcan was a crisp distinction in Kirk’s distracted mind, but it couldn’t be appreciated. Colorful spots danced in his vision as his ligaments were towed against him. He cried out with another tug of his flesh, becoming certain that his entire arm was about to be torn apart.

“It’s a _tree,_ Spock! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Spock ignored him, or perhaps he couldn’t quite hear him. He located his own mind, focusing in on it and listening. 

He had been wandering through the forest, unavailing in his search for his shipmates, when it had happened. At the time, he’d found nothing but his own ineptitude and exhaustion. Then, to his great fear, he heard a scream. Jim’s scream. The kind of scream that immediately dropped away Spock’s ailments, his thoughts, his pain. That forced energy into the muscles of his legs, his endorphins numb with each pounding step he took. There was no realization that he was running, only that he simply _ran._

He pried open his mind, a mind that had been closed to prevent unconsciousness, so he could endeavor to find his friend. When a mind is in extreme duress, hyperdriven by trauma, and the mind is in connection with the counterpart…a Vulcan can sense it. Their minds were connected, and they had been for years. It was unavoidable. They worked together, side by side, as partners and friends. They’d undergone missions of aberrations, horrors, stresses not in accordance to a normal lifestyle. For their minds to share a connection was more natural than the careers they’d decided to pursue. It was not usually noticeable, definitely not obtrusive, but it acted like an emotional telepathy when Kirk was irregularly incited. At the moment, Spock had to block the sheer pain and terror pouring in Kirk’s mind so Spock himself could focus on his own mission.

For when Spock first opened his mind to feel for Kirk’s, he had felt something else. 

Spock kept his eyes closed, his fingers barely touching the tree, almost hovering in their specified places. A familiar filter coated his mind as he accessed that corner of his brain, successful despite his obstacles of both he and Kirk’s tribulations. As he breached his Vulcan telepathy, Kirk’s strangled shouts diminished to silence, along with the sound of the rain, the wind, and McCoy’s fighting struggle.

The doctor continued to pull against Kirk, desperation and panic rising in his throat. What Spock was doing, he did not know, nor did he particularly care. It seemed as though he was doing _that,_ but it was impossible and unimportant. What mattered was Jim, Jim who was imprisoned and bleeding out beneath McCoy’s boots. The rain pounded against the back of his head. 

“Damn it, _COME ON!”_ he yelled out, every muscle flexed as he fought against Kirk’s extremely durable captor. He huffed several times, summoning any strength from the very core of his body, and adjusted his grip on Kirk’s writhing body. _I am_ ** _not_** _losing this man._ He blew the air out his mouth, knowing time was being lost, and yanked backwards with everything he had.

Something under the tree loosened and Kirk’s weight catapulted back into McCoy, the both of them crashing down into the mud. As they fell, Kirk felt the distinct feeling of the roots withdrawing from his skin as blood splattered after them. He was free from it. Rain splashed onto his face as he turned over on his side, gasping and sputtering for air. McCoy clamored to his knees and wrapped an arm around Kirk’s shoulders, his face leaned down to look up at him in unhindered concern. They met eyes, realizing the other was alive, and simultaneously looked behind them to the figure kneeling next to the tree. They barely registered the magnitude of his presence before Spock’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell limp to the ground. Kirk struggled to his feet and ran, his arm hanging uselessly at his side, with McCoy hardly a step behind him.

“What the fuck just happened?!” shouted McCoy, his voice cracking. He looked between Kirk’s gushing arm and Spock’s still body, suddenly wishing he had four arms and two brains. He decidedly crawled to the Vulcan’s side, glancing up at Kirk as he turned Spock over on his back.

“Are you okay, Jim?!”

Kirk allowed himself to kneel down, his chest still heaving and adrenaline soaring. He barely nodded and kept a hand clenched tight on his bloodied bicep. 

“Yeah…what…how did he get here?!” Thunder boomed overhead. “What did he do?!” he shouted over it. McCoy shook his head confoundedly as he took Spock’s pulse.

“Jim, it…it looked like he just did a mind meld!"


	21. Amalgamate

“Bones, do something!” he ordered desperately, his hand wrapped tight around the shredded part of his jacket. Blood ran down between his fingers. Wasn’t adrenaline supposed to numb pain? His ragged arm was a constant, pulsing reminder that such a notion was not exactly gospel.

“Ssshh!” came McCoy’s angry reply, his fingers tight under Spock’s jaw. There were flutters, fleeting and small. A crack of thunder lacerated the ominous sky, and the doctor growled deeply. He shoved his hand into his pocket and retrieved his medical scanner, one of the few things he had the mind to bring with him. Scans of Spock furthered his frustration, and in it’s futile, he then moved to whipping it up to hover in front of Kirk.

“What’s it say about Spock?” protested the captain.

“It says shut your mouth and hold still.” He tsked and scooted closer to him, his fingers gently prodding around the mauled area of his arm. “That’s nasty, Jim.”

“ _Spock.”_

_“_ Dammit, man, what the hell do you think it says about him? I can’t do anything for him here, just like I couldn’t on the ship. In fact, even _less_ so here. And Spock’s got the black spot, you don’t. So let me _look at that.”_ He pried Kirk’s hand away from the bicep, his eyes straining in the dark. All he could see was blood, covering the jacket and flowing down his arm to drip into a puddle below it. McCoy sat up from his hunching and took his belt off in a single movement.

“You’re losing a lot of blood, Jim.”

“Apt medical observation, Bones.”

“Don’t get smart with me, son.”

“Ouch! Jesus, Bones, don’t you think that’s a little tight?”

“Do you wanna lose a fucking arm?”

“I want to keep my arm, thank you very much, and you’re about to sever it with your bloodthirsty hands!”

“If I ever lay eyes that repulsingly vexed alien again, then you’re gonna see bloodthirsty.”

“Repulsingly isn’t a word.”

Kirk glanced at Spock next to them, the Vulcan’s face completely still as rain fell upon him. He winced as McCoy secured the makeshift tourniquet.

“What did you mean by a mind meld, Bones?”

McCoy chewed the inside of his mouth as he inspected the arm. The padding of the jacket may prove somewhat distracting to the purpose of the tourniquet, but it would also keep Kirk warm and alert. He sighed heavily and looked up to meet Kirk’s question.

“I mean what I said.”

“It’s a tree.”

“Do you think I’m not aware of that?” He glanced over to the charcoal perpetrator only a few feet away from them. It gave him an uneasy feeling, as though it would rise from the ground and demolish them unprovoked at any second. _Did_ Spock perform a mind meld? It was an empty question, as against the logic of the universe, McCoy already had the answer. He had seen the Vulcan execute the action several times — not even the rolling clouds and crashing rain could sway what he saw. It was, entirely, a mind meld.

And it had worked. Jim was alive — beaten up, but alive — because of Spock’s meld. _What does that mean?_ Was the _tree_ an alien? Did it have sentience? Although it did seem very bizarre, it was the nature of their work. But a _tree?_ He shook his head, knocking the thoughts away. There were more pressing things to be concerned with.

“We need to find shelter, Jim.”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

“What?”

“Your arm.”

“Yeah?”

“Well how the hell am I supposed to carry a Vulcan all by myself?”

Kirk was silent for a moment. “Shit.”

McCoy stood and rubbed his hand on his pants before swiping the rain away from his eyes. The mud beneath his boots squished as he turned in search of something near, something with cover. He growled in his throat in protest. He had two patients, ranging from severe to critical condition, in an atmosphere of chill, rain, mud, and stalking solitude.

“Did you see anything when we came this way?” he began to ask, but another violent rip of thunder drowned his question.

“What?!”

“Did you see anything! A burrow, or, _anything?”_

Jim was still kneeling, his tired eyes on Spock. He removed his clenched hand to touch his friend’s shoulder, needing something to waken him, but returned it to it’s clutching following a flow of needled pain. The Vulcan was still, his lips barely parted in his comatose, fingers curled naturally upwards. The rain fell fluently off his face, as if he was just another part of the ground.

“Jim?”

“Bones. There’s nothing out here, there’s nothing but trees and dirt. Even if we could carry him, there’s no way we could find anything in this damn storm. We can’t even reach the ship! What are we supposed to do?” He looked up hopelessly to the doctor, and McCoy saw a flicker of guilt pass behind his eyes. “Look at him, Bones. He’s near dead already, and this weather will be the hammer on his grave. We can’t leave him out here in this, in the rain and the cold, he’s going to—“

“Jim, Jim, stop! We’re going to figure it out, alright?” He kneeled down in front of Kirk. “I don’t know exactly what, alright? I don’t. But I do know that we are stranded, you’re bleeding out, and Spock’s—“ he stopped and huffed air out his nose, looking down to the ground. “Look, this tree is fucking dangerous, and frankly, I don’t want to be anywhere near it. So step one is scuttling our sorry asses away somewhere else.”

Kirk nodded absently. His bloodied hand had begun shaking. McCoy muttered something about Kirk staying put, and he stalked away past the tree. Kirk exhaled slowly and lowered himself to sit by Spock. Lightning flashed through the rustling plants above them, illuminating the spidery lines that had crept past the Vulcan’s shirtline and stretched up his neck. Spock’s white sickbay shirt was soaked in the rain, and the harrowing skin that lied beneath it was easily visible. Kirk glared at the blueprints with contempt.

“What are we gonna do, Spock?” he whispered.

_“Congratulations on your command, Captain Kirk. I am Lieutenant Commander Spock. I have been assigned as your first officer and science officer.”_

_“Welcome aboard, Mr. Spock. Chris has told me all about you. And you weren’t assigned as first, he recommended you. I took his advice.”_

A clap of thunder rode the wind. It howled through the leaves, weaving between the trees and filling the forest.

_“Admiral Pike was a commendable commanding officer. Serving with him for seven years was a valuable and exceptional experience.”_

_“Well, let’s hope we can have something of the same.”_

“I can’t see jack shit out there,” yelled McCoy tightly. “I highly advise our next shore leave be on this moon, Jim, it’s a helluva holiday.” Kirk looked up to see the doctor stride past him, two massive, silver leaves behind him in tow. He stomped to a tree several yards away and heaved the leaves above his head. Furiously, he shoved the stems of the leaves into imperfections of the alien bark until they curved out and hovered over the ground. He stormed back over, scowling, and in a kind of irony, gently lifted Spock’s shoulders.

“Come on, Jim. I don’t trust this crochety stump.” He began to drag Spock back to the newly designated tree, mumbling to himself as he did so. Kirk lifted himself on slightly shaky feet, blindly hoping that Spock would suddenly open his eyes and chastise McCoy for the prolonged physical contact. He stumbled over to them.

“Sit down here,” clipped McCoy, pointing to beneath the leaves while he adjusted their angle of hanging. Kirk did so, placing himself beside Spock’s laying head. Each leaf was at least four feet in width, thick and sturdy against the wind. The captain silently commended McCoy’s cleverness as the doctor fused the stems into the trunk’s crevices, a phaser in his hand.

“These fell from the wind, I think. It’s the best I can do, alright?” McCoy tightly grasped the second leaf and firmly pressed against it, using his free hand to activate the phaser’s heat. He spluttered rain away from his mouth and wiped his forehead on his shoulder. “Obviously, the vegetation doesn’t grow from the water, or this would so not be working right now.” He suddenly flinched as thunder cracked above them. He glared up angrily at the sky and shot up his middle finger. “Yeah, fuck you too, buddy!” 

He snarled absently as he carefully pushed Spock’s shoulder closer the the base of the tree, the majority of his body spared from the rain by the makeshift tarp. Satisfied by the hanging plants and his two patients positions, he knelt and felt Spock’s clammy skin. His fingers brushed across the visible blue bands cascading towards his jaw. He shook his head disapprovingly.

“How much time do we have?” he asked, his fingers fumbling with his jacket zipper. He shed himself from it and carefully laid it over Spock, the chill of the laying Vulcan’s skin radiating up to McCoy’s hands. He tried tucking the sides of it inwards, to preserve any warmth he might have left. Kirk’s shoulders barely slouched in silent gratitude as he watched, reaching for his communicator to glance at the timer.

“We have 12 hours,” he sighed wearily. McCoy cursed and hobbled over beside Kirk, sliding down the trunk to sit. Only a quarter of his shoulder was sheltered by their new home, the rest of him blasted by the wind and rain. He hardly cared. Spock was mostly covered, Kirk was mostly covered — whatever to anything else. 

“And how long did it take for us to get here, before you started digging?” He looked over to Kirk, who shared the same disparate look. They each knew time was not to their advantage.

“About 8.”

“Great. Good. So, we’re supposed to get back to the clearing, in the dark, with an unconscious Vulcan on my back and a captain without an arm in the middle of a hurricane. But only if we leave,” he poked his finger irately into the mud, “right now.”

“We’re not gonna make it back, Bones.”

“Oh, I know. You alone wouldn’t make that hike.”

“So I guess we’re stranded.”

“I guess we are.”

They shared no more words as lightning strobed in the sky overhead. It had become so darkened, Kirk was not sure if it was night or if the storm has completely blocked the novalight. He tried hopelessly to hail the ship, and was given no surprise by the lack of a reply.

McCoy’s racing mind kept his exhausted eyes open. The deprivation of all things healthy seeped away at his stamina, and he couldn’t help but feel despondenancy at their predicament. He tried not to think of the implications. He patted his pants pocket, feeling the small bumps of his scanner, portable antibiotics, and disinfectants. In regards to the condition of the man’s arm beside him, those antibiotics were compatible with nothing more than a paper cut.

Dark, silent hours ticked by. McCoy periodically poked around Kirk’s arm, giving him a disinfectant hypo to ward away infection. It was the best, and only, thing he could do in the conditions given. He checked Spock only once, as once was enough for him to draw his conclusions. The temperature of the Vulcan was disturbingly high, his skin cold and deathly. Gray circles has sunk permanently under his eyes. The doctor didn’t remember his face being so thin. His name was still Spock, but it was not the Spock McCoy had known for several years.

“It stopped,” noted Kirk quietly of the rain. His voice was easeful, any anger and frustration drained away from him. Either the night was ended or it had never begun, but the clearing of the storm invited the softness of the light. He watched a few lingering drops of water fall from the tips of the towering leaves. McCoy looked down at his friend’s arm.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

“It hurts like a bitch.”

“Ha, yes, I’ll bet it does. At least the bleeding’s slowed. If we—“

“Bones!”

“What?”

“He’s moving!”

McCoy immediately bounced off the tree and crawled over to Spock, small puddles of rainwater splashing beneath him. Spock’s head barely shifted to the side.

“Spock.” He gave him a small shake. “Come on. I know you want to wake up.”

He glanced up at the silver leaves curving over them, their once sheltering presence now shadowing his view. He reached up and ripped them off, throwing them aside. Spock opened his eyes, as if he’d merely been asleep, and settled his view on the doctor leaning over him.

“Now, you just stay put and don’t move an inch, Spock,” started McCoy firmly. “Jim’s fine. Little bloodied,” he looked over to Kirk. “But he’s fine.”

“We are not on the ship…” Spock observed in a whisper. The weakness in his own voice disturbed him, though it was not unexpected. He noticed the gentle pressure of something blanketed over him.

“She’s still up there, but not for long. A few hours. We have no contact.” McCoy swallowed as he forced down thoughts of their future. Spock moved his head in discomfort, a soft groan audible to the doctor’s keen ears.

“You’re in pain,” stated McCoy with scorn, realizing he almost wished Spock would have stayed unconscious. Spock blinked a few times as his sight focused. The looming trees were a familiar sight, like what he had seen when he first woke from his beamed relocation. Now, however, he was also in company of familiar people. He recognized the comfort of it, and welcomed the feeling. Comfort was one of the few things he had left in this final quarter of his life, and no heritage would dispel it from him. McCoy’s face was above his, and Kirk’s presence was near, but Spock could not see him.

“Captain.” 

“Yeah.” Came the soft answer. Spock ticked his head, realizing his friend was much nearer than he thought. His voice came from directly behind his head. He shifted his gaze back an inch, seeing Kirk’s knees sitting beside him. 

“You are well?”

“Not in tip top shape, but, I’m alive.” A beat passed. “Mind telling us what happened back there?”

“Now wait, give him some time to—“

“Surely you yourself are curious, Doctor?” interjected Spock between a few coughs. McCoy lifted a finger to aide an angry retort, but took to shaking his head as Spock tried to lift himself up. He couldn’t fake irritation, and instead helped with a gentle chastise. 

“Spock, it’s like you want me to have a heart attack.”

He braced him up against the tree to sit beside Kirk, noting how tight his mouth was in the movement. He slapped Spock’s hand away as he tried to brush away the jacket, instead leading the Vulcan’s arms into the sleeves. Spock’s expression was quick and fleeting, but McCoy saw it. Softly confused, and gratified. Spock then quickly took a side glance to Kirk’s shredded arm, a flash of contrition crossing his face.

“That looks quite painful, Jim.”

“I can say the same for you.” Kirk peered over at Spock’s neck and the unnatural branches that were starting to cover it. They were contrasted with a dark violet hue of his skin. Spock absently lifted his hand to it, the shaking of his hand stemming from more than just the pain.

“You guys are almost a matching pair,” grumbled McCoy unhappily. Spock dropped his hand back to his side, his eyes slipping to a spot on the ground. He slowly inhaled as he garnered his strength.

“This moon is unlike anything we have before encountered,” he began. “I could not…” He clenched his jaw irately, then continued in battled determination. “I could not sustain the meld long enough to fully process the information—“ He coughed several times, leaning forward as his gut contracted painfully and shook his head in protest of Kirk’s hovering hand.

“I am alright,” he assured. He took a precautionary breath. “I sensed another mind, as I was searching for the two of you. I heard Jim…and as I was searching, the tree…no, the planet—the moon…” He then stopped and closed his eyes, anger becoming visible as his train of thought derailed. McCoy swallowed as he watched. His mind was losing itself. Spock tensed as he gathered his ideations.

“There is intelligent life on this moon, although I know not where or how.” There was a hint of resolute firmness behind his voice, each word slightly clipped. “Their way of communication is not verbal, but through a network of sentient connection based within the plates of the moon. I could sense this, and realized I could perhaps touch it with a Vulcan mind meld. I did so, and the moment I had a link through the tree, which serves as a foundation, I was aware of a complicated—agh,” he stopped again and clenched his eyes closed, unaware he’d brought a hand up to clutch the side where his heart was.

“…Spock—“

“One moment, Doctor,” he managed. He could not recall a time feeling so fatigued, to have such a desperate want for sleep. It was curiously strange. He’d never experienced a want for sleep. Meditation, yes. Uncountable times. Rest even. Never sleep.

“You’re saying that whatever species is living here, they share a mind that’s installed within this moon?” prodded Kirk, pleading for Spock’s condition to be forgotten. He watched as Spock slowly uncurled himself. He needed him to continue speaking, for the both of them to forget what was approaching. 

“They do not share a mind, rather their minds share each other. I am unsure if they have a spoken language as well or if it is metabolically, silently understood through some form of petrodynamics. Again, it was only a glimpse. I do know, however,” he took in another shaky breath, “that the crystals on this moon serve as magnifiers for the connection. Without the crystals, the fluidity of their mental connection is not possible. That is why the tree attacked you, Jim. A defense mechanism.” Kirk quickly glanced down at Spock’s hand, still clutching his side. He looked back up to Spock, who’s eyes were still on that spot on the ground.

“You just had to have those crystals, Jim,” nudged McCoy with a smile that didn’t quite reach his ears. Kirk shrugged, and McCoy crossed his arms in irascibility at the thought.

“And to think it was all for nothing. You’ve got half an arm for nothing.”

It was Kirk’s turn to smile, and he reached his hand into his jacket pocket to produce several sparkling crystals. McCoy laughed once and shook his head at his captain’s nerve.

“Should I return them, Spock?” asked Kirk lightly. If they were imperative to this unseen species, he did not wish to damage their way of life. Spock’s eyes slowly wandered from the dirt to what was in Kirk’s blood-tinged hand. There was some veiled emotion in his eyes, Kirk knew, put he could not quite translate it. Spock surveyed them for a wavering moment before answering.

“Not necessarily, Captain. Once broken from the roots, they are of no use. Do not distress yourself, as there are millions of these around the moon. The absence of one cluster will be miniscule.”

“These are what that alien wanted. Why? If they’re of no use anyway, why would it so passionately demand them?”

“The alien was banished to that planet, Captain.” Spock paused for a few brief moments. “I hypothesis the crystals may somehow be rejuvenated, to create a network similar to the one on this moon.”

“Is the species here the same as from D684?”

“I cannot say. Though, the aliens we _did_ encounter…should they come in possession of these crystals, it would prove to be quite—“ he trembled and folded in on himself again, his breath hitching. McCoy’s heart fell as he came to a terribly confident, sudden realization. Spock would not live through the next night. McCoy didn’t need a medical PADD to know his organs were likely failing, his life slipping away.

“Bad,” the doctor finished quietly. “It would be quite bad.” Spock barely nodded.

“To put it lightly, yes.”

Kirk’s thumb tapped methodically against the dirt as he observed the scene. They had the crystals, dammit, they _had_ them! But nothing more. On the ship, they had labs, equipment, technicians, more than the three of their minds. They could perhaps at least _attempt_ to use the crystals to Spock’s aide. Here, however, they were just another pile of rocks. A small collection of red blood had gathered below his arm, his jacket trailed with the leaking of his wound. The once terrible pain had subsided into a pulsing headache, McCoy’s belt helping to numb most of his nerves. Spock was quite clearly focused on the difficult task of breathing. McCoy was toolless to assist either of them.

The timer had diminished to four hours.

……………………………………………………………………………………

How definite was Kirk’s order? Was he really completely irrefutable in the ’ _24 hours and leave’_ command? Surely, the captain could understand — the odds were simply stacked against them. Scotty could scour the entirety of the moon with visuals and sensor scans, and he damned well was going to, but 24 hours would hardly make a dent. It just wasn’t enough.

“Chekov, tell me you’ve got yourself _something,”_ he begged, standing behind the science station. The young man just shook his head apologetically, his hair slightly askew in his enervation.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Scotty huffed and rubbed his jaw. He looked on to the Russian gently, his gaze soft as he thanked him. The ensign was clearly exhausted, as they all were, working nonstop and avenueing every possible path to try and find their shipmates. Chekov nodded and turned right back to his instruments.

“How much longer have we got, then, Sulu?” He paced to the helm, unable to take his seat since the landing party was beamed away. Sulu kept his sigh internal; Scotty had been asking that question nearly every five minutes.

“Three hours and twenty-seven minutes, sir.”

“Agh, crivvens!”

“We’ll keep looking, sir.”

“That’s hardly enough time to poke around a _cave,_ for the love of God.” 

Step, step, step. He couldn’t do anything but circle around the bridge, the past day inane to bring clarity to his position. He was tempted to directly ignore Kirk’s order. But, an order was an order. Everything Scott felt for Kirk was complete respect, a captain of intellect and altruism. A man Scotty would follow into Hell. The engineer, as a gentleman and an officer, couldn’t see himself to disobey the man. Yet something kept tugging him back to that second option, that sinful option he felt to be mighty enticing.

They stay, and they search.

He paced back to Sulu’s station, finding a small solace in his friend’s presence. He placed his arm on the back of the helmsman’s chair.

“Mister Sulu…” he pursed his lips and looked down at him, to which Sulu looked up questionably. Scotty continued.

“How dreadful would it be to break an order if it involved us saving the arse of the man who ordered it?” he asked cautiously, an impish look in his eye. Sulu broke into a smile, the other officer’s looking over at them in hopeful anticipation of Scott’s connotations. 

“Considering there isn’t a soul on this ship that would chose any other way,” answered Sulu, “even if it means being laid with 400 court martials, I think we ought to stay and find these damned drifters.”

“Ay, laddie. I can’t see it any other way, either, to be honest. Take my rank, I cannae care. I wouldn’t live with myself and my career if it meant leavin’ these jack asses behind. We’re-a stayin’.”

Sulu’s smile grew wider and he gave him a nod.

“Aye aye, Captain Scott.”


	22. Distillation

“It’s getting dark again…” McCoy turned his head skywards, watching the light fall away from the canopy above them. He had moved from sitting beside Kirk to planting himself in front of both he and Spock, a watchful eye on each. The transition from day to night was radiantly green, highlighted with streaks of a dark ocean blue that swashed the sky; the effect of the nova light rays being reflected from the atmosphere. It was in striking contrast to the monochromic scenery that enveloped them.

“Another storm?” asked Kirk.

“No. No clouds…just night.”

The ship had left two hours ago. They were alone, cast away on a moon that carried secrets none of them understood. Kirk’s arm had begun to tingle and pale, but the absence of the rain and the presence of the wind dried enough of the blood to clot the majority of his wound.

Spock was up against the trunk, his head drifted down and his ear touching the tree. He had been largely silent in the speckled conversations between the two humans, static except for the occasional blink. His eyes were downcast. The fingers on his left hand would twitch infrequently. 

“Spock,” Kirk turned towards him. “It seems like we’ve only had light for a few hours. How long is a lightcycle here?”

Crosslegged, McCoy brought his eyes down from the sky to look at the Vulcan for his answer. Instead, he saw Spock just  continuing to stare emptily at the ground. McCoy leaned forward as he gave Spock a few more moments, but the Vulcan did not answer. 

“Spock.”

The Vulcan gave a small jolt and looked up at him.

“Yes?”

“Did you hear Jim?”

Spock numbly turned his head to Kirk beside him. Kirk looked into his eyes, and though Spock looked back, Kirk could see that his friend was not strictly present. Surely, after Scotty gained enough distance from the moon, he’d send a distress signal to Starfleet. There would be rescue shuttle crafts in a week, maybe longer. If he could keep Spock alive until then, keep him alert, he might have a chance. Any notion otherwise, he gave no conscious attention.

“The orbit of the moon around it’s planet,” repeated Kirk. “How long is a lightcycle here?”

Spock blinked and shifted his head, as if searching his mind for the answer. Spock knew he had once known, as he had once known virtually everything regarding the physical logistics of the moon. Now, however, he both had no energy to search for it nor the clarity to recognize it even if he could find it.

“Perhaps…eight to twelve solar hours. I would estimate.”

McCoy toyed with the scanner in his hand, studying it’s little buttons and mechanisms. Spock never estimated. His words were beginning to slur in their quiet presentation, his breath shallow, quiet, and uneven. Chasming past his jaw were three little electric blue bolts, closely followed on his neck by starkly amethyst skin. The brownness of his eyes seemed faded.

Kirk felt something knot in his chest, the spectacle of the Vulcan beside him retching his insides and pulling on his heart. He heeded to McCoy across from him, each hearing the perdition in Spock, and the doctor slowly shook his head. A sorrowful signal that Spock’s time was finishing. Kirk looked away without acknowledgement. 

Spock wasn’t aware of the sluggishness of his blinking. His exhaustion was dull and even throughout his body, forcing the simple act of breathing to become tiresome. 

“Spock,” McCoy’s voice was easing, soft. “Do you want to lay down?”

Spock had been pondering what his father would say when he learned of his death. His mother, of course, would grieve. She was human, and had always been benignly transparent in her love for Spock. His father was quite the opposite, and though he idealized the abolition of any vindication of emotions, he had become rather familiar with expressing his impasse to his son. He supposed Sarek would simply thank the aide for the news and return to his work. Spock then noticed the strange silence in the present and he looked up to meet McCoy’s concerned gaze, staring stiffly at him. He must have missed another remark.

“I’m sorry, doctor, could you repeat?”

He saw something troubled cross the doctor’s face before the man answered.

“I said I think you should lay down.”

Spock nodded. Perhaps he should. In something that was an indiscernible haze, he recognized being up against the tree and then recognized being purposefully moved parallel to the ground. The movements in-between were blurred, the transition of his body to get there something of an indolent delusion. His vision spun as he was settled down, the trees and doctor’s face above him circling inwards in tandem with a dim nausea. He started to close his eyes to allow the vertigo to settle, but McCoy’s hands lightly tapped his face. 

“Keep those open. I’m gonna get a fire going. Just…” There was a sigh. “Just, stay awake for now.”

McCoy heaved himself up, giving Kirk a softhearted look. He began to circle around, plucking sticks off the ground and piling them in his arms. The captain braced his good arm on the tree and pushed up, rising to his feet. He trudged over as McCoy bent down to collect a branch.

“He’s weak, Jim,” whispered McCoy. “He won’t keep this up for long.”

“He’s not going to die.”

“He is.”

“Dammit, McCoy—“

“Jim, you are blinding yourself! And I am so sorry that this is happening, but it _is_ happening.” He looked deeply into his friend’s eyes, a pained truth in his words. “How can you possibly think that he’s going to make it? Let alone the fact that we’re in the middle of nowhere, because frankly, even if we were on the ship, he’d _still_ die. He has venom inside his blood, obliterating his cells and shattering his systems. There’s no antidote, there’s no cure, there’s no saving him. He will die.”

“I know things seem bleak right now…but, Bones, we’ve been in some terrible situations before, right? And we’ve always made it back to the ship, all of us, alive. This can’t be the day he dies.”

“Jim…” McCoy tilted his head in remorse as he tried to find the words. How could he force Jim to find his sense? Losing Spock was going to devastate Kirk. He had never faced death before, not like this, and McCoy could do nothing to prepare him for it. But the man needed to at least expect it. Naivety would only enhance the loss.

“There will always be a day where someone dies, Jim. Today just happens to be his day.”

McCoy moved past him, his throat starting to tighten. He knelt down and arranged the sticks into a pile near Spock, fixing them so there was little space amongst the cluster. They were wet, still damp with the rain, and would not blaze like he desired them too. With the heat of a phaser, though, they’d still burn. He pulled his weapon away from his hip as he eyed Spock, who was staring up past the trees. He seemed sunken, void of energy. The sticks sizzled as the beam of the phaser began to smolder into them, sparking and cracking until they could calcine unassisted.

Foreign stars sprinkled across the black night. The presence of a dim orange light in the corner of his eye notified Spock that there was a fire near him. A few embers flittered beside his head, one hovering lightly in the air and drifting over his eyeline. He watched it float away in the wind. He’d rather not hear the conversation between the two other men, but his Vulcan ears couldn’t not be susceptible to the obvious words. It wasn’t so much the topic of the speech, but rather Captain Kirk’s absolute refusal of it that Spock found troubling. He hardly had the power to contribute, though, and allowed the doctor to speak for the both of them. Odd, Spock recognized. For once, and now of all times, it was Leonard McCoy that was the most rational.

“It’s dark for the second time we’ve been here, Jim. Frankly I don’t know how he’s made it this long, but it won’t be much longer. He’s borderline delirious.”

“I’m not giving up on him.”

“I’m not ‘giving up’, Jim, dammit, I’m trying to tell you what is!”

Spock felt something different, an uncomfortable pressure that settled over his chest and heart. It enveloped him. A vignette took his vision, blackness violating the borders of his sight. For days, every inch of his body was vanquished with agony and threats. Now, it was nothing more than a dull and numb pressing. Though it was not an advantageous sign to his situation, it was a great and welcome relief. 

“What can we do with these crystals?” Kirk asked as they quarreled by the molting pile. He watched Spock’s head shift barely to the left. “There has to be something we can at least try.”

“Please, Jim,” McCoy lowered his voice as his eyes welled. His absolute ignorance was making this so difficult, so painful for McCoy to continuously rehash. “Those crystals didn’t do anything but tear you up. I can’t save him…he’s too far gone.”

An intrusive and unstoppable mist settled over Spock’s mind and his thoughts. Suddenly reality didn’t matter, for he felt the deep tug of unconsciousness begin to tease him. Or rather, as before it was unconsciousness…perhaps now a better suited word was oblivion.

Previously, during his episodes and attacks of intense anguish, he felt himself wanting to be unconscious. To cease the pain. Now, he felt something different; not a want for the blackness, but a need for it. If he let himself fall, he knew there would be no return. Not this time. It was so alluring — this void that capped over him, hailing for his release, baiting him down…

“Spock.”

The doctor’s voice passed through.

“Spock…!”

He felt a shake to a shoulder, his left shoulder, and the thought that he was completely painless was banished as his eyes snapped open in alarm. He met the cyan eyes of McCoy, the man’s expression lamented in sadness. McCoy knew Spock would die, he was realistic about it. Yet somehow, even after that confirmation, he couldn’t bring himself to let it happen. He couldn’t. Not until it was irreversibly inevitable. 

“Doctor, you—“ A chill ran through Spock and his skin trembled, his hands starting to quake again after their idleness. There was a soft groan as something pushed down into his heart.

“Look, Spock…”

“Do not feel the necessity for condolences, McCoy…” strained Spock quietly. “We both knew. We both did.”

McCoy’s fought to keep his lip from quivering as he looked down at him, his hands softly holding his shoulders. He gave him the smallest shake and nodded, knowing he was right.

“No, stop that.” Kirk took the place of McCoy, who rose and backtracked a few steps. Jim was still refuting, but the doctor knew this was going to be their goodbye. He saw it in Spock, in his eyes. He couldn’t hold out any longer. He wiped his face and allowed himself to release a shaky breath. If only the captain could allow it to happen, they’d have more time to say what they both needed to say. 

“You’re starting to sound like McCoy, Spock, which I know for a fact you’ve never wanted to do.”

The blackness in Spock’s sight was spreading to splotch over his entire vision. Kirk’s face was barely perceptible. 

“Spock you gotta hold on,” pled Kirk’s voice. “Hold on.”

“It’s…” Everything that once seemed so normal, the act of speaking, now took immense amounts of effort. His tongue didn’t seem to be connected to his brain. “It’s alright, Jim.”

“No. We’re gonna figure this out, alright? We always do. We always do.” Spock felt a soft pressure on his cheek. “Keep your eyes open.”

The execution of breathing had become rather troublesome and difficult. There were many, many things he wished to convey to his captain. One being that he needed to move on, that he needed to focus on discovering a rescue for he and the doctor. To return home to their ship and continue doing what they do best; venturing further into space and admirably discovering things no one before had. To achieve the greatness Spock knew they would. But, he simply didn’t have the energy or time for it.

“Don’t mourn for long, Jim. Truly, there are better things ahead of you.” It was all he could manage, the best of what he knew he felt summed up in two sentences. A tear fell from Kirk’s face, falling down into the damp dirt beneath Spock’s head. Kirk began to tremble as he realized that Spock really was going to die. He was dying here, at this moment, and was so near to leaving him forever. Kirk grabbed his hand, holding it between his palms and barely giving him a strained squeeze.

“Spock, you’re supposed to live longer than me, remember?” He took in a hard inhale as a few more tears joined the ground. “You aren’t supposed to die yet.”

Spock’s vision was overrun with the blackout and his muscles loosened as it overcame him. He forced his draining will to softly splay his fingers against Kirk’s hand, spreading them into the salute that was interplanitarily recognized. Without the use of words he couldn’t give, he knew this to be the most accurate thing he could say to his friend. Everything he felt for his relationship with Jim, everything that he desired for him, was conveyed in that signal.

_Live long and prosper, Jim._

The weight of his eyelids was too stubborn to fight, and his thoughts dwindled away. He couldn’t feel his head falling loosely to the side, his chin turning to rest against the dirt. Then, there was nothing.

“Spock.” Kirk released his hand and shook his shoulders lightly. “Spock!” He shook again, any pain of his own wound completely forgotten. The only response given was the ashen head lolling to the side.

“No…” Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. He took the limp Vulcan into his arms, holding him as he fought quiet, choking sobs. McCoy spectated silently to the side as tears slipped off his face. He had never wanted to be right about this. He had never wanted to see this happen. The last few days had seemed like years, beginning with that horrible day on the bridge and collapsing into the conclusion that nothing was going to fix it.

He was gone.

A twig snapped in the distance. Kirk shot his head up, his commanding senses on alert. A lasting tear fell beneath his eyes and onto the still face of Commander Spock.

“Jim…” started McCoy.

“I know, I heard it.”

He held Spock tightly as he listened. A quiet, wispy whistle of the wind bowed through the trees. The hairs on the back of the captain’s neck rose as he looked past the darkness, his body stilled as he listened. Low branches swayed in the cold breeze. 

_There is intelligent life on this moon, although I know not where or how._ Kirk brought the Vulcan closer to him as his voice weaved his mind, still giving him aide although he was gone. 

“Who’s out there?” he dared, his voice lined with confidence. He was not afraid. Suddenly, the leaves surrounding he and the doctor rustled in harmony, crumbling and creaking throughout the forest so they were both turning their heads in all directions, searching for whatever lurked in the shadows. 

His head twisted backwards, Kirk saw something bright and white in the corner of his eye. He whipped his head around and his sight planted on an alien figure twenty feet away, glowing white and standing erect, as if another piece of the forest. 

He froze as he realized what he was seeing. It was completely identical to the alien found on planter D684, the alien who had done this, killed his friend. It was completely identical…except for the color. White. It was tall, thin, it’s limbs long and it’s body covered in easeful scales like a graceful chain-armor. 

Kirk kept his eyes completely focused on the figure, his mouth closed and his voice lost. There was a potency of anger and fury that lined his blood. He held Spock’s shoulders tightly, the Vulcan’s head limp against his chest, venomized skin peering out from the jacket and coursing down his loosely fallen Vulcan hand. The forest fell silent again, and it was Kirk and it, their eyes locked in silence. He could hear the breaths coming from his own lungs as he kept himself steady.

“Your friend is dying,” said the figure.

Kirk’s heart picked up pace at it’s voice, his eyes unblinking and unwavering. _My friend is dead,_ he wanted to spit. There wasn’t an ounce of desire to speak with this creature, to allow it any kind of conversation, and his silence held firm.

“Your friend is dying,” it repeated, the sentence more emphasized, kinder. Kirk swallowed and his fingers closed tighter on Spock. McCoy took a few steps closer to the captain, cautiously, their only defense being each other.

“Why have you come here?” it asked. Neither the doctor nor captain responded, and it cocked it’s head in distilled wonder.

“We mean you no harm,” it stated, it’s voice strong and it’s image sturdy. It did not falter like it’s prior brethren, shedding any holographic assumption. Kirk knew, could see and feel, that it was real. Present. He took in a slow and steady breath, the air crisper than it was moments ago. “Your friend is dying, of something we know.”

The embers of the burning sticks crackled. Lit ashes danced in the wind, swiveling up between Kirk and it, prancing over Kirk’s view. Every alert within him was red and blaring, the confrontation of this species sending Spock’s anguished cry from the bridge through the echo of his mind. His muteness still would not give.

“You are human, as is your companion beside you. The one, laying still…he is not.”

_Your half-breed friend will be dead._

_“_ Let us help you. I can help you.”

Two more white beings faded from the blackness of the forest, appearing beside the one speaking. Kirk slightly tensed as they did so. He flicked his eyes between the three of them, his muscles locked in a cage around Spock’s body. Every yell, every scream, every trigger of agony that Spock had endured was as visible as the aliens standing between the trees. Kirk clenched his jaw as he allowed their words to process in his mind.

There was another crack of the struggling fire, splintering down the limbs and spitting out blazen embers. 

“I don’t believe you,” he finally said, his voice low and shaking with his repressed grief and anger.

The soft light of the lit branches flickered dimly on Spock’s face, his head loose over the captain’s arm and his eyes peacefully closed. The alien looked down at him, considered something, studying him. Kirk held him closer at it’s scrutiny.

“You have encountered our counterparts, I can see,” it replied. “They have harmed you. Harmed this one you care deeply about. The Vulcan.”

Kirk’s nostrils flared as he attempted to keep himself in check, to keep his emotions internal and shaking suppressed. He couldn’t deal with Spock’s loss now, not now. His priority was McCoy and himself. 

“They’ve poisoned him,” it alluded. “To force you to free them from that planet. A planet they cannot otherwise escape.”

McCoy’s eyes widened and his breath stopped in his chest. They knew…

“Poisoned him with a toxin so rare, that it is found in only one of two places in the entire galaxy that expands over 100,000 light years across. One being an Angurian jade flower…” the alien slowly extended it’s palm towards Kirk. “…and the other, Nvandian crystals.”

The crystals that were previously tucked away in the captain’s pocket slowly extracted themselves, levitating in the air. It rotated it’s palm, and in accordance with their controller, the crystals rotated above Kirk’s pocket. It brought it’s hand back to it’s side, and the crystals eased back into Kirk’s pocket. Kirk inhaled heavily as he fought with himself, stilling the confliction that raged within. 

“They were never meant to be in discourse with any other beings,” it apologized softly. “I see you are afraid, of us. Of myself. Because of what they have done to you.”

Boiling inside Kirk was exhaustion, depreciation, hunger, fatigue, and a constant stress that had glued itself to his very   bones. His eyes wavered as he felt the weight of the body in his arms.

“Please, your friend…he has only seconds.”

McCoy’s shoulders tensed and he found himself looking down directly at Spock. He was the color of the absence of life. Everything about him was statue still, unmoving, unalive. His vivacity seemed to have slipped out of him and absolved into the dark, drying mud that they stood upon. 

Something hit the doctor, a wave of almost stupid hope, and he had the sudden need to call to his captain that they should trust them. They were Spock’s only hope, his only chance, that their insinuations were the only things the two of them had left. But then, their presence had dumped a wall of hate and aberration on the doctor. The things McCoy had witnessed because of this species, the things he had to watch, because of _their_ hands. 

“I don’t trust you,” repeated Kirk, fresh tears forming in the corner of his eyes. Spock was dead in his arms. Dead. He refused to hold the dead body of Leonard McCoy as well.

The alien was silent, it’s natural light bouncing softly off the ground. The silvery grass around it’s feet brightened in it’s presence. It’s eyes, pure with thin black borders, were fixated on Kirk’s.

“I do not expect you to trust me. However…I _can_ save him.” It took a precautionary step forward. At the lack of defensive cues from Kirk, it took another step forward, it’s movements unthreatening and slow. It raised it’s palm again, facing upwards to the sky, and the crystals came back out to greet the air. They clinked together as they hovered next to Kirk’s hip.

“I can save him.”

Kirk brought Spock closer, his protective grip on him resolute, fearing any kind of further harm that could come to his dead body. As the white being came closer, Kirk raised his head to keep his eyes on it’s. His chin was upwards as it towered over him, now only a foot away, and his locked eyes followed it down as it knelt before him. It’s eyes were a question of permission, and Kirk swallowed as he realized he could not object. Something in those eyes, a color he wasn’t familiar with, filled him with an essence he hadn’t felt before.

The being widened his fingers, and the freshly dug crystals keyed their way to it’s hand. It slowly circled it’s fingers inwards until the stones were enclosed in a fist. The breath in Kirk had stopped as he watched, his eyes wide and unbelieving. He watched as the alien, only inches away, uncurled it’s fingers and revealed it’s shimmering scales. The crystals were gone, their light absorbed into the hand. It looked down at it’s palm and back up to Kirk, allowing him to come to his own decision. Kirk remained frozen, his fingers senseless at the grip he had on Spock.

At the lack of a protest, the alien brushed away Spock’s jacket and placed it’s palm over his side. The blue webs beneath the white shirt were visible as the hand pressed down. The illumination of the it’s palm transferred from it’s skin, past the shirt, and settled into Spock’s flesh. The bolts that had lacerated Spock’s jaw and face receded, the perversely purple skin fading away, gathering into the density of the light that glowed under the creature’s hand. 

Kirk was rigid as he watched. He had felt the life leave Spock, he had seen the light in his eyes disappear. He couldn’t allow himself this strange feeling, any indictment of belief that he could return to him…

And then Spock moved.

It was hardly anything, a barely perceivable shift of his head. Kirk huffed raggedly and pulled him closer, the presence of this incredible being suddenly becoming insignificant. McCoy dropped to his knees beside Kirk as he hovered over them, his hands reaching for the man thought to be dead.

“The toxin is obsolete, but the trauma on his body is not. I am not limitless; I cannot renovate him completely.” It rose to it’s feet and took several steps back, a wide breadth of space for the smaller creatures to repose. “He is, however, alive.”

Kirk brought his eyes up to look at it, an unspeakable relief marking his body.

“Who are you?”

“We’ve kept ourselves from your Federation, as your species and the ones within your system are not familiar with us. We do things, understand things, you simply do not. It is matter of differences rather than importance. We were careless in our disposal of our outcasts, they who worship harm over peace. I suspect what they asked of you, and I will ensure their silence.”

“You have no idea what they’ve done to him!” McCoy stood, indignation swirling in his mind. The twitch from Spock had thrust an alleviation into him, but his fury at what he’d suffered had not vanished. “They’re your people, and they virtually killed him!”

The alien looked down to the doctor, noticing him and observing him. McCoy felt a chill run down his spine as he was analyzed, though he did not feel threatened. 

“You have an anger in you. An uncontrollable one.” It was an observation. “Truly, what you and your friends have encountered…we never wanted. Wholly, it is our doing and responsibility.”

“They’re still out there, waiting for us to return! And when we don’t, they’ll just find someone else’s lives to fucking play games with! If you’re so high and mighty, what are you gonna do about it?”

It straightened itself and cocked it’s head, somewhat taken aback but alight with calm curiosity. “We will adhere to our mistake. You can trust in that.” 

“You say you’ve extracted the toxin, but we have no communication with our ship,” said Kirk. He looked down at Spock’s sallowed face. “His ailments could still kill him. He’s weak.”

The figure nodded and looked up to the stars, admiring them. “Life on this moon is hidden from your instruments. This is because of a fabricated shield we generated to live in peace, amongst ourselves. This shield, purposed to protect strangers from seeing in, also prevents you from seeing out. Life here is bred by these crystals, produced by their energy. Including us. This is why you lost communication with your ship — you do not have the capacity to understand this way of evolution.”

“I _need_ to reach my ship.”

“It’s a complicated process, to eradicate a shield we built to last indefinitely. However I want nothing more than for you to be returned to your place of home, and I will have it be so.”

“ _When?”_ His voice was firm, but pleading. He needed to see for himself, through McCoy’s own work and the Enterprise’s machines, that Spock really was free of that tainted blood. And, if he was, he needed help. Quickly.

“I will ensure he does not die here, officer.”

“It’s Captain.”

It was McCoy who clarified, his voice soft and clipped. It gave one gentle nod.

“Captain.”

“That didn’t answer his question,” McCoy prodded, again kneeling next to Spock and Kirk. His captain was right — Spock needed medical. He was barely ticking, a thin rope trying to trudge past severe fatigue, dehydration, malnutrition, half a lung, and a very fickle heart. 

“I will ensure he does not die here,” was all it replied. It began to turn on it’s feet and recede back to the darkness of the trees, but McCoy leapt up and took a large step towards it.

“Someone took him from us. From our ship. Why?”

It’s back was turned to him, but it turned it’s chin over it’s shoulder.

“Why did you intercept our beam and take him?”

The white figure turned back to face him, and McCoy was once again hit with the strange force of it’s sight. 

“Because he had the crystal within his system. We can sense the Nvandians as fluently as you do air, and we felt it before we recognized who’s system it was within; we thought he was one of our own, returned for redress. We expected to kill him.”

Silence filled the forest, the distant roll of thunder rumbling in the distance. Wind played at Kirk’s hair, and he drew the cold body in his arms closer. Spock was _alive._ He could feel his small, minuscule, shuttering breaths, but they were breaths of air. Of life, and living. Kirk didn’t have any further inquiries of this creature. It had somehow, inexplicably, dug Spock’s tapering life from a buried abyss and brought it back to the light. That was all Kirk needed. He watched as it turned back around.

“You should find ability to return to your ship by dawn.”

McCoy took another several steps forward. “Wait—no, we have so many questions!”

“You will also find that you and your Federation will never be able to relocate this moon or that abandoned planet again.”

“Please—!”

“Our banished brethren will no longer see the light you see at every waking moment.”

“WAIT!”

The three figures disappeared into the forest like wisps of the wind, gone as quickly as they had arrived. McCoy was frozen with one hand up, and he finally exhaled in alarmed wonder and dropped it back to his side. The few remaining charred pieces of limb spat out a few retiring embers before billowing out into nothing. The strained heat and crimson cinders smoked away.

In the silence, the dark, and the truly astonishing, they were once again alone. 


	23. The End of the Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank you guys for the comments, kudos, and love. Star Trek is so fantastically important to me, and any fan of it is a friend of mine. As chances are, a lover of Star Trek is an exceptional, open-minded, kind individual. That's what ST is all about, right? Anyway--you're all heroes to me. Sap over; several more chapters to follow, so stay tuned =,) . LLAP.

“Kirk to Enterprise, Scotty, come in, _please.”_

McCoy hovered over Spock while Kirk trifled with the communicator, the captain’s face starting to turn red. The doctor just took to shaking his head and running his scanner over Spock again. He was, in the mysteries of the cosmos, alive. Every time McCoy thought back to that look in his eyes, only hours ago, as Spock silently expressed to him he knew he was about to die, the doctor just took to his scanning. His time had not elapsed, his time was not done, for his heart was beating and chest rising. He lifted Spock’s shirt and ran the side of his palm over his skin; cleared, absolved of any baneful markings. As he shifted his neckline down to note the same of his collarbone, he lightly ignored the frustrated holler behind him.

“Why isn’t this blasted thing _working_ now?!”

“Jim, it never was working.”

“We were able to establish brief contact, Bones, that’s —“

“A couple exchanges of static isn’t really considered contact.”

“Maybe not, but that means that the ship knows we’re here! They’ve got to be heading back.”

“You gave an order to _leave,_ your highness. If they realized we are here, and alive, regulation says they need to wrangle some backup and _then_ head back. And by that time, God knows how far away they’ll be. Ten solar hours away? Ten solar days? He needs medical, Jim.”

“I know, I know, whatdya want from me?” Kirk placed his hands on his hips and circled around the area. The thickness of the night had passed, shadows of pastel oranges beginning to fade up with the early novalight. He toed the dirt with his boot, resigning to a sigh and doubling back to sit beside his companions. He tossed McCoy his useless communicator back, Kirk’s own lost in the battle with the Nvandian tree.

“Why can’t we reach the ship yet?” he wondered aloud as he looked upwards. McCoy straightened Spock’s shirt down, mindlessly smoothing out any wrinkles the Vulcan would find disdainful.

“Well, it did say it wasn’t limitless.”

Kirk gave a puff from his nose at the irony. “Funny that it did say that, considering it’s quite the opposite of what the first one said.”

The creamy plants at the top of the trees bristled together in the wind, just as chilled as the organic beings below. McCoy suppressed a shiver, his arms bare to the wind, and zipped up the jacket that was now on Spock. The Vulcan’s skin was frigid, the tips of ears turning a pale shade of blue. McCoy watched as his hand twitched in his unconsciousness.

“Feeling frosty yet, Bones?”

“I’m basically a doc-sicle.”

Kirk couldn’t help but burst out several hearty laughs, and McCoy’s mouth tugged upwards in a smile. Kirk reached over and thumped his friend’s shoulder with the backside of his hand as his chuckles waned. He breathed deeply and ran a hand through his hair, feeling a little lighter. He motioned to Spock with a nod.

“How is he?”

“He’s…well like I said, he needs medical. But he’s alive. That’s really what I’m focusing on right now. And _you_ , sir, also need medical.” 

Kirk nodded and lowered his eyes to look at the Vulcan. His skin was still grey, paled — but it was as McCoy said, he’s alive. It was what Kirk needed to focus on all well. The emptiness he had felt when Spock had died, and he _had_ died, was obliterating. There was never a moment that the captain had experienced such drowning hopelessness, a blinding grief that had engulfed him to think of nothing but the slack body in his arms. 

To think back on the moment when Kirk gained such a fierce affection for Spock was futile, as there was no one moment. It had just, happened — organically. Over time. There wasn’t entirely a moment of recognition, either. But, there was for his realization. 

It was hardly eight months into their five-year mission. They had worked together prior to the mission, of course, on the Enterprise. They’d known each other well. But in such close, intimate proximities as on a constantly perilous sailing ship—you form a kind of relationship that those planet-side can’t possibly understand.

It was a routine diplomacy assignment, to exchange talk with a people called the J-vnijuah in regards to their interest in the Federation. It was only supposed to be civil communication, whether they did or did not wish to join the United Federation of Planets. It’s considered customary for the Captain and First Officer of a starship to beam down to engage in diplomatics, and so, they did.

Events as quick as lightning led to another, and as escalations collided, it ended with Kirk held back by each arm as Spock was forced down with a jagged knife pressed diagonally against his throat. The Vulcan had, admirably, remained calm as they screamed threats in their ancient language, awaiting silently for them to ease down. Kirk, in contrast, was terrified. Outwardly, he confidently discoursed with the J-vnijuah chief, his expression stoic and pressed as Spock’s head was forced upwards by the weapon. Inwards, his heart was racking against his chest at the thought of green blood splattering the rocks. Kirk, forced to his knees by the warriors, was able to convince the chief of their genuine wish of peace. That if they had no want for visitors, they would willingly leave and not return. It had concluded with Kirk and Spock, side by side, beaming back to the Enterprise with hardly nothing more than sore shoulders and a knick on the neck. 

But it was them that Kirk realized, with that unparalleled fear, the true depth of the black void he would fall into at Spock’s loss.

*krrrrsht* “—pain Kirk, can ye hear me? Come in, Kir” *shhhhhhht*

Kirk and McCoy simultaneously jerked their heads up in alarm, eyes locking with a blossoming hope. Kirk scrambled up to his knees and snatched the communicator back away from McCoy.

“SCOTTY! Scotty, I’m here, we’re all here, can you hear me?”

“ _JIM!_ Oh thank crivvens, I though’ we’d lost ye for good til we go that bit o’ static! Agh, Lochness in a river, am I glad to hear your damn voice! HA! Did you hear that, Sulu! I went on and told you that adjusting the magnetism in those antiparticle wavelengths would clear something up, now, didn’t I? Jim, Sulu here thought—“

“Scotty, where are you? You gotta get us back up there! How long until you can get here? If you need to push those engines to warp 8, Scott, you do it!”

“Well—we’re still just outside o’ orbit, sir! Have been this whole time, scanning every inch o’ that devilish place tryin’ to find the lot o’ you!”

Kirk raised his eyebrows, almost surprised by the blatant disregard of his very specific orders. His brow was where his surprise stopped, however, as the Scotsman had one of the hardest heads on the ship. He gave a chuckle in blissful relief and scanned the sky, knowing his ship was _just_ there, somewhere, and they were so close to getting back to it. He then suppressed a surprised yelp as McCoy yanked the device away from his unsuspecting hands, the doctor’s veins popping.

“ _Well then what in the goddamn hell is the hold up?!”_ he shouted into it. Kirk swiped it back and shot him a look.

“Look, Scotty, time is of the essence here.”

“Well I figure as much, sir, but it’s mighty difficult to get any kind of accurate reading through this atmosphere! It’s somethin’ strange for sure, Jim, an’ I’m thinkin’ o’ feedin’ this ugly forsaken rock to a black hole, as I cannae say I’d hate somethin’ so much I do this blasted thing! Now I _know_ I beamed the two of you down there, but there’s no seein’ where the hell you’re at! The scanner’s are still tryin’ to strangle me with the no life forms bit, and frankly, I’mma—“

“Scotty, Scotty, listen, I have answers for you. But first we have to get out of here. We found Spock,” he heard a couple relieved whispers filter from the receiver. “But he’s in bad shape. You’ve got to find a way to beam us up.”

“Jim, I…frankly, I just, I don’t know how! I’ve tried everythin’, but I cannae snap my fingers and get your sorry arses back up on the transporter pad!”

McCoy snickered and looked down at the grass. Kirk cocked his head at him disapprovingly, idly bouncing the communicator in his hand.

“Scotty, you’re a miracle man. Find a way.”

He heard the sharp noise of McCoy cursing vehemently, his tone changed, before the doctor called out to him.

“Jim—!”

Kirk tore his eyes away from the communicator and his shoulders tensed. To his horror, Spock’s laying body began to fade away. Just as it had in the transporters room. Immediate anger fumigated in his stomach, his eyes turning treacherous as he lowered the communicator.

**“** Oh, fuck no,” he growled dangerously. McCoy himself could feel the pure fury radiating off the captain, the use of explicit words such a rarity for him. Kirk made a move to grab the Vulcan, but as he did so, he halted his hand mid-reach. His hand was half vanished, just as Spock’s was. Alarmed, he looked back up to McCoy, who too was disappearing.   
 ****

Before they could communicate their surprise to each other, the bridge of the Enterprise formed before their eyes and the pressure of the dirt below them turned to the solidity of the spotless tiles. Kirk’s intense anger dissolved away completely and an ocean of relief overcame him. He huffed and looked at man across from him.

“Bones.”

“On it.”

They each lifted Spock off the ground and charged towards the turbo lift, completely ignoring Scott and the entire bridge’s shocked faces. Scotty stuttered with boggling eyes as they leapt forward, his head following their path, the two men ragged and worn with Spock hanging loose between them.

“What the devil is happening?! Jim! Where did ye come from, were you on a ship? Who’s beam was that?! _JIM!”_

His mouth was agape as the turbo lift closed behind them and the bridge was frozen in their stupor. He slowly pivoted around to face his crew, his eyes bugged out.

“Am I insane? Am I unfit for duty? Did you sorry lollisanders see that?”

“Holy shit.” Sulu’s mutter was the only answer Scott would receive.

McCoy practically kicked the door open, it’s normally quick automated entry not quite quick enough, as they hauled into the sickbay. Nurse Chapel whipped around from the supply station and nearly fell backwards, grabbing the counter as she flustered,

“Leonard?! Oh my God, what—?”

“Christine, shove your questions up your ass and get me the strongest goddamn hemolytic hypo in those drawers!” 

They lifted Spock atop the biobed he so frequently occupied. Chapel bolted over with McCoy’s demands and he immediately pushed it into Spock’s side, right above his fluttering heart. He barked a few more orders at her and she fluently followed them, two gears in a single mechanism. Several minutes passed in silence, save for the now muttered requests given by McCoy and the mute actions answered by his nurse. Kirk finally looked over the scene and took a step forward.

“Bones?”

The doctor, bent over Spock, turned his head towards him with a modest smile.

“He’s gonna be alright, Jim.”

Kirk exhaled and looked up to the ceiling, a pressure releasing from his head and leaking out to the floor. _Finally._

_“_ Scott to sickbay.”

McCoy tilted his head down and looked at Jim expectantly. He knew the call wasn’t meant for him. Kirk nodded and waved him off, shuffling over to the wall dial.

“Kirk here, Scotty.”

“Captain…well, I think you owe me some answers, sir,” he said, somewhat troubled. Kirk sighed slowly and nodded. The Engineer had been piloting his ship for a substantial amount of time now, blindfolded and hands essentially tied behind his back, waiting endlessly for their return and met with silence.

“Yes, I think you’re right about that. I’m on my way up.” He bumped off the intercom. “Bones…?”

“I got him, Jim. His vitals are still low, but they are improving. You don’t just bounce back from death, after all. And the venom is completely gone…his blood seems a little thinner for some reason, probably a product of that alien mumbo jumbo — anyway. I can’t really believe I’m saying it, but, our Vulcan friend is gonna be OK.”

Kirk smiled to him. Those were the words he’d been waiting to hear; minute after minute, day after day, he’d been wanting to hear just that… _he’s gonna be OK._

_“_ But I need to bandage that arm before you go gallivanting around the ship.”

“It’s fine, Bones, you’re busy. I won’t be long.”

“Jim, I want to see that arm.”

“Another 30 minutes isn’t going to do anything.”

“You’re a pain in my ass.”

_“_ I’ll be back down.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The ship had never seemed so gleaming, so spectacular as when Kirk strode through the halls up to the bridge. She was bright, alive. Glowing. He ran his fingers along the walls as he breached the threshold to his most treasured room, his crews’ eye’s a question.

It wasn’t a simple conversation. There was immediate distrust in Scott’s eyes when the captain explained the moon-side events, what the alien had said and done down in the forest. Since the beginning, Scott had felt personally attacked at what that alien had done to his ship and his friends, and the hellfire his first officer had been put through. And now, they had the audacity to suggest they were actually _good_? He glanced down in contempt to the rough bandaging of the worn belt and bloodied jacket that Kirk sported. 

“Well how do you know they really got that toxin out from him, Jim? What if they amplified it? Or injected _you_ with it? How can you be so sure?”

“I could just feel it, Scotty. When it knelt down in front of me… the air changed. It put it’s hand on Spock, and it was like… there was this strange wave of existence. It’s incredibly hard for me to explain, Scott, but I could just _feel_ it. I felt the malice leave Spock’s body, I felt his heart stop and I felt it start again. It was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.” His voice was soft, hoarse in his fatigue, but his tired eyes had the night’s light in them.

“Their friends had a hidden agenda before, Jim.”

“They’re not friends, Scotty. It’s like the allies and the axis, the confederates and the union, the rebels and the empires, the himogodins and the retrogrades. The same people, but different agendas. They aren’t each other.”

“What did they look like, Captain?” inquired Uhura suddenly. He looked back at her and gave a warm shrug.

“I suppose they looked quite a lot like the other one. But there was this…presence. Of life. As if they could just touch the Mojave desert with one finger and a rainforest what spring up from beneath it.”

“It’s amazing, Keptin…” Chekov marveled. Kirk smiled at him and nodded.

“This was a mighty dangerous business we got ourselves into, Jim,” said Scotty with half a frown. “But I’m glad things seemed to have worked out. I’m rather ecstatic to know that Mister Spock will be just fine, might I add.”

“Trust me, Scotty. I am too.”

“Is this really over, Jim?”

“I think it is.”


	24. Radiant Light in the Mongering Dark

“Hey,” Jim breathed as he glided past the sickbay door. His face was bright and easy, something of a contrast to the doctor’s. McCoy groaned.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

The doctor shook his head in contained annoyance and waved him off, turning to skulk into his office with grumbles tapered behind him. The door closed. Kirk pressed his lips together and looked around the open room, his hands on his hips, and frowned. The medical man was apparently not in a talking sort of mood.

“How does your arm feel?” asked a gentle voice behind him. Kirk turned to face Chapel and shrugged.

“He gave me enough of that stuff to numb an elephant.”

She smiled and quietly walked up to him, her fingers prodding at the bandages. She nodded in approval at the lack of a wince from the captain. Above the crook of his elbow, where the worst of the gaping wounds had shredded, she pressed two fingers against his skin. His complexion reacted by paling before returning to it’s pinkish hue. She straightened herself.

“Seems like the transfuse took well. You’re not light-headed at all?”

“No.” He smiled at her. “Is Spock—?”

“He’s stable, Captain,” she reassured.

“McCoy said he hasn’t gone into the Vulcan healing process.”

“No…he hasn’t. We believe it’s because he’s still far too weak for that. Vulcans can trance themselves into it on a dime, but they require enough brain and body power to slip into something so delicate. When he came in with the two of you…well, as you know, he’s very lucky to be alive.”

“He doesn’t believe in luck,” Kirk mumbled to himself. 

“Hmm?”

“Oh, I was just saying — never mind. When do you think he’ll be strong enough to do so?”

“Jim, wouldya stop harassing my nurse?” barked the impatience voice through the office door. “If you want to go hold his hand, he’s literally in the same room he’s always in.”

Kirk rubbed the back of his neck and twisted to look at the door, his mouth open to retort, but he sighed. In a change of mind, he turned back to Chapel and motioned over to his door.

“Has he rested at all?”

“I HAVE RESTED AS MUCH AS I DAMN WELL WANTED, JIM.” Kirk winced at the screech of a chair against tile and groaned as the doctor’s angry stomps approached. He threw the door open.

“What the hell are you doing down here, Jim? Go sleep, dammit, I’m tired of you haunting my sickbay!” Kirk eyed him, McCoy’s face smudged with barely wiped away dirt, eyes bagged and boots chalked with mud. Kirk lifted his hands up defensively.

“Calm down, Sally, I just wanted to check on you.”

“Listen, Patricia,” he spat back. “You have stalked down to this room at _least_ five times since we got back here seven hours ago, and you had orders to _rest._ Is this resting, Jim? Does it appear as though you’re following my orders? The answer is NO. So eat the sass and carry your pale rear back to your quarters before I shove so much sedative into your wormy brain that you won’t even know what your own last name is!”

Kirk kept the pull of his smile down, fearing it would set him off even more. His friend was quite plainly agitated, but it seemed as though nothing could quite have the same effect on Kirk. There was an unshakeable happiness in him, his spirits lofted and feeling oh so pleasant in the change of events. He scratched his cheek, cautious and somewhat entertained.

“You seem a little grumpy, Bones.”

“BECAUSE I AM GRUMPY!” he bellowed. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA—“

His howls continued to ride the steam from his ears as Chapel amusedly leading the captain back into the corridor. The doors swished closed, and McCoy’s ranting continued beyond the walls.

“He hasn’t rested since you’ve all come back,” she gave gently. “But I don’t think you have either.”

“Well I did try, but as you might imagine it’s not entirely easy after all this,” he replied with mild frustration. “At least I took a shower. McCoy’s going to run himself into Deck 7!”

She resigned herself to a small sigh. It was true; her CMO had hardly taken a seat in the past seven hours. He was constantly hovering over their Vulcan patient, double and triple checking scans he had run dozens of times. He seemed to be in disbelief at the sudden pivot of good fortune for Spock, not quite trusting that he really was alive and well. He’d barely made a mumble when Christine asked about it, about what had happened in the vast hours when the three of them were missing — and that had ignited a small spark in the woman. On her demands to know, for her medical purposes as a nurse, with the coercion of her fierce scowl, he only relinquished the fact that Spock had died and a foreign being had revived him. It gave her more questions than answers, but it did reveal truth to McCoy’s incessant skepticism regarding Spock’s life. 

To see a man die only to see him live again gave a person a certain amount of distrust. 

“He is tired, yes,” she admitted. She noticed his angry tirade had silenced. “But he wouldn’t be able to rest either. Just like you. Let him do his work, and I’ll let you do yours. Because if I wanted to, Captain, I do have every irrefutable reason to order you onto mandatory medical leave.” She casually raised an eyebrow at him. He brought his head back, almost impressed, and gave a small salute. 

“Aye aye, ma’am.”

The door opened to reveal a begrudging McCoy. He fell against the doorframe with crossed arms, flicking his eyes between the two of them before settling his gaze on Kirk.

“Well I guess if you were to come down often enough, the chances of you being here when he wakes up are improved, right?”

Kirk arched his brow and gave a slow, curious nod. The man’s irritation had been wiped and replaced by something suspicious. McCoy impishly looked at his nails, turning them over in false inspection.

“Well, he’s waking up.”

Kirk’s face immediately brightened and he stepped straight past McCoy, the nurse and her doctor exchanging amused smirks as he did so. She looked at her mentor in mild disapproving and shook her head, quickly glancing in at Spock’s room before turning up a smile at McCoy.

“I’m going to go check on the bridge officers,” she offered with another flick of her eyes into the room. He nodded and tugged a corner of his mouth up, constantly puzzled at the charm the Vulcan seemed to hold over not only his captain, but nurse as well. 

“Thanks, Christine.”

“You need to be nice to him, Leonard. I mean really nice. No grumbling.”

“Since when do I grumble at Spock?”

She slouched her shoulders and clocked him on the chest with the back of her hand. “Be nice, Leonard.”

She turned to glide down the hallway, her stunning silver hair sporting a few fly-a-ways in the unending bustle. He took in a slow, deep breath as he watched her turn the corner.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself. “Don’t grumble at him. Be nice.” He repeated the mantra to himself. “Don’t grumble, be nice.” He sighed again and cracked his neck. “Be nice.”

The incredible distress he’d had over Spock, for such a long amount of time, had depleted his tact meter well into the negatives. The southern man was well aware that he had a habit of redirecting his sentiments into chastising gripes, something of a deflector to show anything else. That, and screwing with Spock sometimes gave him a sense of comfort, though it could sometimes be so _infuriating._ When he had the upper hand, however, it was a real welcome comfort. Was it a logical desire? No. But dammit, he was human and he didn’t rather care about it.

“He’s still out,” complained Kirk as McCoy walked in.

“Yeah, his brain activity took a turn. It’s a sign he’s about to come out of it, just give it a sec. Jesus, you’re the most impatient man I’ve ever met.” He gave him a slide glance as Kirk turned to him in feigned defense.

“Me? I don’t know, Bones, you’re a pretty competitive contender for that.”

“Shut up, Jim.”

Kirk cracked a tickled smile as he turned down to look at Spock. For the first time in what had seemed like years, he looked alive. Perhaps not as steady and strong as he was a week ago, but he no longer held the appearance that he was slipping into an ashen grave. He no longer looked like the ghost he was in Kirk’s arms, a slack and empty shell down in that forest, the only movements being the panicked shaking of his shoulders that only Kirk was executing. He was thinner, his body was weakened, but his skin was tinted green and his vitals were almost completely stabilized. McCoy glanced at his brainwaves, becoming more active, and he prodded him with his hand.

“Spock.” 

There was a small spike in the brainwaves display, a bit more than McCoy expected, but his eyelids opened to reveal tired and confused brown eyes. McCoy retracted his hand and gave him an easy smile, placing his hand on the headboard. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Spock looked around slowly, his eyes trailing the corners of the room and taking note of the two men beside his bed. He blinked.

“I am…not dead.”

McCoy actually laughed and rubbed his eyes, a smile plastered to his face. Unexpected ease drifted into his soul. Being nice wasn’t going to be so hard, after all. He resigned to it and accepted his Vulcan-based scowls could wait.

“No, no, you’re right about that. You’re not dead.”

“I do not understand.” The disorientation in his eyes grew as he processed his situation, at the sound of his own voice. “I should be dead. Or, in the very least…dying. But I do not feel as though I am dying…” He noted the rhythmic notes coming from his heart monitor, the feeling of his fingertips, the smooth and painless air that flowed in and out from his body. The total and utter lack of agony pounding against his bones. He shook his head to himself.

“Well, you’re not dying. Your condition is actually rather improved, if you can believe it.”

“I apologize, Doctor, but frankly I do not believe it. I will admit I am rather…perplexed at the moment. The —“ he stopped as the images around him finally processed in his mind. 

“We’re on the ship,” he realized. He shook his head again, as if to rattle the memories into place. For one very brief moment, he thought perhaps it had all been a terrible dream — but the extremely vivid recollection of what the pain had felt like convinced him otherwise.

“Alright, maybe you should tell him what happened,” Kirk motioned. It was quite obvious Spock was uncomfortably thrown. McCoy nodded in agreement, though he wasn’t certain on how to approach the explanation.

“It’s kind of a strange thing, Spock.”

Spock had last been completely cognizant when he melded with the connection through the tree, his mind one with the pulsing web of minds past it. His collapse afterwords had forced a deteriorating delusion upon him afterwards, pieces of what had happened only drifting the whispers of his mind. He could recall the storm, the captain’s blood…an argument beside a limp fire. He did not trust his memory, however, as things seemed hazy and broken. He listened silently as McCoy recounted the events, Kirk occasionally chipping in to complete the recounts.

For the two human men, some memories also seemed waxed around the edges. They’d both been dangerously exhausted, with Kirk pouring blood, throughout their time surface-bound. A few times they had to stop and correct each other, dispelling in tandem what had actually happened, before continuing. 

For Kirk, however, one memory was explicitly clear; the encounter with the moonlit beings, cemented with crystal clarity in his mind. He didn’t attempt to portray the chill in his soul at their presence to Spock, but his eyes were message enough for the Vulcan to read. 

McCoy watched Spock’s expressions as Kirk finished with their final, and unexpected, beam-up to the bridge. He waited to see how he would react, what the notoriously unemotional Vulcan would have to say at the extraordinary events, but he remained silent.

“Spock?” he prodded. The Vulcan drew in a long breath and turned his head to the doctor.

“It’s fascinating,” he muttered, wondrous. McCoy rolled his eyes, hating the word while feeling relish at it’s familiarity. It seemed ages since he’d heard him say it, and he doubted there would be another time when he enjoyed it’s utterance. 

“If only I had been lucid, to observe them myself,” Spock thought aloud, speaking more to himself than his colleagues. 

“Well you weren’t just _not_ lucid, Spock. I’m quite positive you were dead, completely. Even just for a moment.”

“Doctor?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve seen my share of people die. A man can tell.”

“I don’t believe that is possible, Doctor McCoy.”

“None of this was possible,” he shrugged. Kirk elected to remain silent, but he fully supported McCoy’s theory. Spock really had died. Kirk brushed the memory away as he awaited a retort from the Vulcan, but surprisingly, Spock accepted the comment and left his thoughts to himself. 

“So how do you feel, Spock?” McCoy finally asked. His tone was different this time than when he’d previously asked the question; now, it was a question of recovering rather than deterioration. Spock half raised an eyebrow as he ascertained the answer.

“I am…” he lifted a hand to his temple, “rather exhausted.”

“Well, you should be. Your cells have been regenerating, you’re welcome by the way, thanks to my hypos and magnificent gift of medical practice, and that can tire a body something fierce. Any pain?”

Spock blinked sluggishly, the realization of his fatigue pulling sleep into his mind.

“Perhaps.”

McCoy looked up at his levels, which registered a moderate discomfort. Likely the aches of imbalance and the restoration of his lungs. Something to be expected, though not desired. He made a move to look at Spock’s collarbone, although he already knew it was void of injury, just to reassure himself. But as he did so…Spock winced away. It was subtle, restrained, hardly noticeable — but the move took the doctor by surprise and he straightened back. Perhaps a subconscious reaction to the trauma he’d endured from that area. McCoy quickly recovered himself and moved on.

“Alright, you need to sleep. Try and put yourself into a healing trance, alright? You need it.”

Spock nodded, regularly. An arbitrary lapse, then. McCoy met Kirk’s eyes and nodded out towards the door. Kirk walked past the doorway, as did McCoy, but he turned and leaned back into the room.

“Healing trance,” he repeated. The Vulcan’s eyelids had already closed, his head drooped to the side in sleep. “Lights, 15 percent,” he grumbled. They dimmed, a small amount of medical’s lighted area filtering in. They walked to the other side of the room as McCoy replaced a few of his supplies. 

“So?” asked Kirk with a happy grin.

“Looks a helluva lot better, doesn’t he?” McCoy remarked. Kirk scoffed with a smile and nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, he does.”

“Well. You were right all along, Jim.” McCoy closed the cabinet and turned to face him. “I’m sorry.” His face was relaxed, his eyes slightly downcast. Kirk narrowed his eyes at the unexpected and unwarranted apology.

“Sorry for what, Bones? Besides that last alien bit, you basically single-handedly saved his life.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t believe in him, or you. I was so completely convinced he was a dead man, that there was no stopping that train. You were the only one who really believed otherwise. And time and time again, you tried to tell me, and I was so vehement against it. I’m sorry.”

Kirk sighed and grabbed the doctor’s shoulders, his smile unfaultered. McCoy was a medical, realistic man. The captain understood that he himself was more oblivious than optimistic, and the doctor in turn was doing his best to prepare him before the grief even came.

“You don’t have to apologize, Bones. He _was_ a dead man. He should have died, by all physical means of the universe, and I know that. And he _did_ die. It’s just…I couldn’t recognize that. I couldn’t accept it.” He gave his friend a hard squeeze. “It wasn’t my blind belief that saved him, Bones. It was you.”

“Me, and mystical alien voodoo.”

Kirk chuckled and dropped his hands. “Yup.”

“Will you go sleep now?”

“I need to make another pass on the bridge.”

“Ugh. Alright, hurry up.” McCoy gave him a lighthearted scowl as Kirk patted him encouragingly before exiting medical. He brushed shoulders with an approaching Chapel.

“Chapel! How’s my crew?”

“They’re tired, but all healthy and stable. Nothing at all to worry about. What about that sleep, Captain?”

“Christ, you and that Chief Medical Officer! I’ll get there in a second. Go convince your boss to sleep.”

He left before seeing her chuckle, his feet bound for the lift. He wished to sleep as much as everyone else seemed to wish it for him, but the only one who could convince him to do so was a silver lady called Enterprise. He was quite tired, particularly after he had the ease of seeing Spock alive and well, and one last check of his crew would put him to rest.

He bounded into the bridge, plopping himself in the command chair. Twenty minutes to ensure navigations, Starfleet orders, and a small amount of reporting before he could find his bed. He could manage twenty minutes. His officers, collectively, were drowning in their relief at his return from the moon. They looked to him with masked grins as he took his familiar chair, albeit his occupation of it for the last several hours.

“Sulu?”

“We’re almost back to charted territory, Captain. Shouldn’t be more than two solar hours before it’s Federation recognized space.”

“Perfect,” he whispered to himself. He allowed himself to lean back in his chair, fingers brushing across the familiar bumps of his command buttons. He locked his eyes onto the stars before them.

“Do you want to rest, Captain? I can take over,” Sulu offered.

“Maybe you should be transferred to medical,” Kirk teased back. Sulu smiled and turned around in his chair, receiving the message that sounded something like a wry warning. Kirk inhaled deeply and rested his face in his hand. It seemed as though the blackened nightmare they’d found themselves in was finally delving away into the past.

They were far, far away from that moon. They’d long exited the star cluster. Spock was mending, _alive_ , free from the alien’s puppetry and torment. Never again would they have to —

Kirk suddenly tensed as the air in his body was suddenly very crisp, his skin tingling at the change. He took in an alarmed breath and watched Sulu and Chekov flinch in surprise as well at the change in the atmosphere. They were incredibly startled, the sensation new, but the captain had felt it before. Kirk half lifted himself out from the chair.

A figure dissolved from the air and reformed into a brilliantly luminous figure that Kirk could immediately recognize, his heart stopping dead in his chest and his eyes widening. A chill filled the room, the helm consoles radiating in it’s proximity, a pure wonder pouring from the walls. 

It was the auroral alien from the monochromatic moon.

Kirk fully lifted himself from the chair, his hands lingering on the armrests as he stood. Uhura behind him was frozen in awe, it’s appearance near to what she had imagined but far from what she could be prepared for. 

“What are you doing on this ship?” breathed Kirk, his voice soft and sharp. His mind was stilled, quiet, unquestioning. It may have been a surprise, as he would have expected adrenaline to be coursing his brain with racked thoughts, but this is not how he reacted. He stood tall, opposite the aglowed creature standing taller.

“Captain.” It’s voice filled the bridge, amplifying in the empty spaces and immersing the human’s ears with it’s richness. It was gentle, effectuating. “You appear improved than how I had left you.”

It’s eyes, the color jarring the two men sitting nearest it, roamed the room, searching. “Your companions, they are not here…” It tilted it’s head slightly to the left. “They are on the medical deck, also progressed. I will say, I am relieved by this.”

“I…” Kirk lost the words in his throat. “Why are you here?”

It was silent, though even it’s silence was heard. The light it gave off was a sound itself, tensing across the room and buzzing with strength.

“I had let you leave prematurely.”

Alone, the sentence almost sounded like a threat. Yet it came from the mouth of this particular being, and it was received as not. Every person on the bridge was still, breath hitched and astonishment lulling their movements. Kirk felt no fear as he waited for an expansion, an explanation on what it meant. 

There was no fear in the creature, no…but perhaps there was in what it had to say.

It straightened itself, to somehow grow taller, the black and starry screen behind it a backdrop of it’s whole marvel.

“I have something to ask of you, Captain.”


	25. The Calm Before

“I have something to ask of you, Captain.”

The air in the room stilled, the statement it spoke melting into the tiles, the floor, the matter of the atmosphere. Kirk swallowed and kept his eyes confident, alert. His breathing was even despite the resounding request. Chekov, sitting only a few feet in front of him, could not take his eyes off the creature.

His young heart racked against his ribs, a subconscious gulp from the memories of his science mentor strung up in torture jutted down his throat. The ensign had joined Starfleet for many reasons — a challenge was one of them. And a challenge, quite obviously, he had found. 

He was frightened, but only as frightened as he was expected to be. There was no overwhelming desire to leap from his chair and sprint for the turbo lift, but there was also no undeniable peace at seeing the glowing entity before him. His vision quaked with each hammering heart beat. A wise choice may be to look at his captain, or his friend Sulu, to distract his locked gaze. But the image of the being held his eyes like a starship tractor beam and he found he could not look away. He was a young man who was scared, but he was also an officer of science who was filled with amazement. He barely registered Kirk shift his stance in the corner of his eye.

“You saved my friend,” said the captain. “I can only repay you in hearing what you have to say.”

“I understand.” It’s voice echoed quietly. 

Sulu could not help but recall when something disturbingly similar had happened to them almost a solar week ago. A creature — a powerful, breathtaking, mysterious creature — demanding something of the captain and his ship. Yet this one did not demand…

The first alien, the dark being of shadow and malice, had thrown violent shivers down Sulu’s spine with every decibel of it’s abysmal voice. It did for all the crew. This one, strangely, gave him awe. It was just as the captain had described.

“After what you and your companions, your ship, has endured…” it continued, it’s sincerity unalloyed, “I do not wish to bring you to any further harm.”

“I’m anticipating that what you have to ask me might bring us to harm,” said Kirk, dismayed. Were it his perceptiveness or simple connection of events, Kirk could easily surmise what it would ask of him. He already knew. The alien swayed, slightly, and the small movement blurred the light of it’s edges like a slowly composed photograph. 

“Captain. I wish to know your name.”

Kirk’s face softened, and his eyes felt weary.

“Jim Kirk.”

“Captain Kirk. Your friend, the Vulcan…I sensed, I felt, the condition he was in physically and mentally. Near dead on both accounts.”

Kirk clenched his fist and drifted his eyes downwards, the memory still fresh in his mind. Spock had moved past that, he was _alive,_ and Kirk couldn’t allow himself to look backwards on it. 

“Jim Kirk, you understand what they could do to others. What they would be _willing_ to do. What they would enjoy doing.” It turned it’s head to study each individual in the room. “The souls in this room know. You have seen. The word ‘dangerous’ could not possibly suffice to describe them, the word ‘unstable’ paling in comparison to the truth. They will kill not one, nor thousands. Millions. Perhaps more. Of beings, civilizations, _planets.”_ It turned it’s palm upwards, and in a soft sizzling and pop, a cluster of crystals hovered above it. A visual invitation to what it needed from the Enterprise. “I fear I need your help, Captain.”

Kirk exhaled in resignation, slowly and with a heavy weight upon him. This question that this being before him was asking could not be ignored, but it would bring his crew back to a place of absolute peril. Yet, as the alien said, something must be done. He met it’s eyes.

“What’s your name?” Kirk asked suddenly, reciprocating the earlier question. The being seemed almost taken aback, surprised by the redirection.

“It is not translatable in your speech.”

“I must call you something.”

“…If that is something you wish to do.”

“Must I make a name for you?”

It answered only in silence, it’s light giving off a faint pulse. It was a remarkable being, extraordinary not only in it’s form but it’s intellect and vivacity. A strange kindness that brushed souls, rather than a fierce hatred that stripped them. Commandeering, yet asking…

“You remind me of an old Earth philosopher. Someone too old for his time. Hahv.”

It continued to merely observe the captain, and Kirk nodded.

“Hahv. Are there others who know of your existence? You were deliberately hidden from us.”

“We are not wholly isolated.”

Kirk finally ran a hand over his face, constructing a mental wall against the fatigue that now would inevitably have to wait. The magnitude of the conversation had woken him, regardless.

“Well, then. Hahv.” He exhaled in grave preparation. “What are you asking me to do?”

“I am asking that you return to that planet.”

The dread in the room permeated at the words. Each person and their deepest desire was to never return to that chthonic planet swathed in ledger, to never again witness it’s swashed grey color backsplashed with wickedness and savagery. Kirk’s heart dropped to his feet. He, arguably, was the most vehement against such a thought. Yet he undeniably understood this new ally would not ask such a thing on a superficial junction, and as a human and captain, he knew he must hear this.

“Why would you need us, humans, for this task?”

“Because to them, you are on such an inferior level that their entire defenses would be not only deficient, but wholly unaware.”

“That’s…reassuring,” he mumbled lowly. It was, however, in a morosely irrefutable way, a sound theory. 

_Logical._

He found that he desperately wanted to put his face in his hands, to take a moment to wallow in this somewhat celestial war he’d found himself in. This treacherous combat his crew was forced into. His command nature fought against the weak action, and he instead straightened himself. Friend, foe, stranger, ally…he must stay alert and assertive in the presence of most.

“Continue,” he said, as not a command. 

“You would return to the planet, the crystals in hand, and make to offer the exchange as you would have otherwise. The crystal’s for your Vulcan’s life. Myself and —“

“No, no, that won’t work.” He shook his head and pressed his hands on his hips, the stress beginning to line his face. “Spock is supposed to be dead. They originally said that should we find him to be dying, it would be because we’d left course for that moon. To convince us of their omnipotence. We, of course, later discovered it to be a lie. They did not possess the controller to Spock’s life, because they had deliberately venomized him from the beginning. He’d die regardless of if we retrieved the crystals of not. That’s why, when you found us in the forest, he was…” His voice trailed off.

“I assumed he was so near death because they had miscalculated the amount of Nvandian injected within him. That they would want him alive upon return, as an incentive for you to follow through.”

“No. They knew exactly how much was needed to kill him. Slowly. He would be dead before we ever came back. If we go there, they will know Spock is alive. Your kind can sense that, I know. They’ll realize that we’ve met you.”

“I can mask him.”

Kirk growled inaudibly in his throat. The idea of putting Spock back in that kind of danger, on such a thin thread, settled extremely uneasily in his mind. 

“Can you guarantee that?”

“I can, Captain. I can mask him, just as I can mask myself and my companions can do the same for their own. The others, of this banished colony, cannot do so with themselves nor can they sense us so readily. They’re far weaker than us, worn. Distanced for a great time from the Nvandian’s that fuel us so. Abilities natural to our species have diminished from them without it’s energy.”

“So…” Kirk couldn’t help but feel his unwilling apprehension. “We go, we tell them we’ve got the crystals…and?”

“The moment that hollow betrayer is convinced it’s won, my people will contain them planet-side, as whatever you met days ago was not a physical form. My people are linked through a complex, indescribable connection through mental seeds. We can use this to detain them and keep them from harming you in any way. You will be in no danger.”

“You would travel on my ship? With us? There and back?”

“With a power such as ours, starships are obsolete. Withal, on our journey to this planet, we will be with you. We must be with you in proximity to mask your friend, and to eclipse ourselves effectively to fool them. However, once we arrive and control the situation…you will leave.”

Kirk flexed his jaw nervously.

“What will you do?”

“Do not bother yourself with questions that would only bother you more,” it replied softly. “I only ask you to transport my people and I, to act oblivious for only minutes and to turn their own tricks upon them. Convince them of their victory. Then continue on your voyage, repair yourselves, reform your unforgiving memories, and journey on to explore this magnifying universe. Make progress, discover things you couldn’t before imagine, and forget what has happened to you here.” 

It’s wish was sincere, genuine, in the abhorrence experienced on this ship to be washed away entirely. Why, though, Kirk could not figure. 

“We will never forget what has happened to us,” he said simply as he looked around him, searching the eyes of his crew for their consent. They answered unanimously.

“Well. It seems like this is something we have to do.”

…………………………………….

“Well crivvens, weren’t they something to look at?” exclaimed Scotty astonishingly, his eyebrows dancing as he and the captain strode down the corridor. Shortly after Hahv and Kirk’s bridge-side discussion, the two others formed from the ether to it’s side. “Where the devil did ye put them?! In the walls?”

Kirk chuckled. “They said the greenhouse was fine.”

“The greenhouse! Agh. Strange things, aren’t they then? That creature saved Mister Spock and the lot of you?”

“It did, yes. Hahv.” He chuckled quietly at his own impulsiveness. If the good doctor were present, he likely would have boggled his eyes at the captain and later scowled at him for the diversion from the seriousness of the exchange. But, truly, a being like that needed a name. 

They were on an accelerated path back towards D684, Hahv inexplicably able to strengthen the dilithium power source to splice them through the stars. They had mutually agreed a full solar day to be most reasonable and least suspicious, to coincide with the lost time spent on the Nvandian moon. 

With nothing to do but wait, the captain was able to succeed in a three hour nap — but he awoke with his exhaustion converted to anticipation. It was his kind engineer who invited him for coffee in the briefing room at the sight of his tapping thumb, tap, tap, tapping against the command controls in choreography with his foot. The Scotsman had looked at him sympathetically and easily persuaded him into the break.

They sat, Kirk plopping eagerly, in the empty room and Scotty flashed him a grin.

“You’d-a better drink this up, Jim.” He pushed the coffee towards him. Kirk smiled back and lifted it in a toast.

“Drink this I will.” He took a hearty sip. “Mmm…! Italian creamer! You know me too well, sometimes, Scotty.”

“I was tempted to douse it with something Scottish.”

“I’m sure you were.”

“Jim. I’ve gotta admit…though I know we’ve gotta do it, I’m feelin’ mighty nervous ‘bout goin’ back there.”

“I am too, Scotty. I’m nervous. But, like you said…we have to go. They need us. By helping them, we could invariably prevent the loss of countless of lives.” He slowly spun the mug around under his fingertips. “What if someone had the option to help them do this, long before we ourselves came across the planet, and that someone had said ‘no’? Their denial of that request would have been solely responsible for that hell Spock went through. For the imminent danger the Enterprise has been in the past week. I can’t be that hypothetical person, Scotty. I can’t say no and let this happen to someone else.”

He watched an unmixed swirl of cream twirl into the coffee, wheeling gracefully into the browned caffeine. “I’m just so sorry that it’s dragging you and everyone else along with me.”

“Oh, Jim. There innit a soul aboard this ship that would rather follow any other captain, Captain.” 

………………………………………………………………

“You’re sure you’ve tried?” pressed an annoyed doctor.

“You are wasting your breath with such an incredibly vapid question, Doctor,” replied an equally annoyed Vulcan.

“I just don’t get it, Spock. I’ve seen you go through this healing process before, and back then, you didn’t even think you _could_ because of your human half. Now, we both know you can, but suddenly you can’t manage to pull it off?”

“Doctor, it is not a matter of ‘pulling it off’. Something has changed. I do not entirely understand it either.”

Spock still felt exhaustively weak, hardly able to stand without the help of the doctor. The shock of his body coupled with the slow strengthening of his once derogated cells had settled a fragility in him. He was a physical, element-based body, and would take time to heal — but he was increasingly irritated with it. The severity of his cells make-up could call for a trance, if only he could access it. But, at the moment, that ability seemed quite debilitated. Intermittently. 

“Whattya mean something’s changed?”

“You yourself said my body essentially died in one way or another. You tell me one of the aliens…did something. Extracted the venom, somehow, which inevitably resuscitated me. However, I theorize that whatever action was performed, it changed something within me. Reorganized my variabilities, or perhaps disorganized them. A more than equitable trade, however it does define my failure in accessing the trance.”

“But you _need_ to!”

“Exclamations cannot cheat the truth, Doctor.” McCoy crossed his arms and pouted at the science officer’s monitor.

“And rather,” continued Spock, “I do not need to. I am quite alive, and well. On the steady progression to regaining my strength. Rather unfortunately…” he almost uncharacteristically growled that last word, “it will take longer than preferred.”

McCoy huffed and plopped down into his chair beside the monitor. He switched the crossing of his arms to his legs, and rested his elbow upon his knee with a chin pensive in his palm. He stared at Spock.

“Doctor?”

The southern man thought back to Spock being in that biobed, so many times before, in such grave scenarios in which labelled the biobed to be his deathbed. It had almost seemed like a nightmare, something that had felt so real at the time but was now in the grateful past. Like a distilled reality he knew existed, but he could not clearly relay. It was difficult to now imagine Spock being the way he was, a shell of a Vulcan dying horribly, as his sharp mind had returned with his sharp tongue. The relief of it was beginning to edge away as McCoy crept closer upon the familiarity of wanting to chop it off. 

It was only the simmering grey complexion that was hidden under his far healthier skin, the slight hoarseness of his voice, and a slight jumpiness to him which gave proof to the events.

“Doctor McCoy, you are staring at me.”

McCoy raised his head from his palm, realizing he did have the Vulcan in his crosshairs, and plopped his hand to down to his knee.

“Sorry, Spock. I’m a bit tired, zoning out, ya know. I’ve gotten rather blunt in the past day.”

“Only this past day, Doctor McCoy?” batted Spock dryly.

“And apparently for another! ’We’re going back’.” He scoffed. “Jesus Jim. What a thing to say to me at a time like this.” His mouth was sour with disdain.

“It is logical, Doctor.”

“Shut up, Spock.”

“I am being entirely serious, Doctor, with no intention of eroding your patience. It is logical to return, to end what we —“ He suddenly began coughing, the small attack furtive and abrupt. In a twisted irony, it was a symptom of his recovery rather than demise. McCoy rose to inject him with a hypo, perhaps too quick to resort to the medication, and reached for Spock’s shoulder. Spock quickly shot to the other side of the bed and waved him away, almost flinchingly, and said,

“It is only a cough, McCoy.”

“I’m not going to beat you, Spock, it’s just a hypo! Do you see what I’m saying when I say you need that healing trance? You’re gonna remain weak, all your body’s energy being used to fix up those damned cells, and your green ass is gonna have to stay here that whole time.”

“There is nothing I can do about it, Doctor,” he replied firmly. Though hardly visible, he relaxed as McCoy fell back into his own chair.

Quite simply, Spock was rather restless with his own ailments and the weakness that lined him. It was an incredibly vast welcome from what he had experienced prior, but frankly, he greatly missed the health of his body. For this doctor to have to make such meticulous care of him, constantly under his watchful and medical eye, did not suit what he favored. Spock preferred to be invisible to the universe around him, as long as the universe was completely visible to him. 

For a small moment, the feeling in his chest gave Spock to believe he was about to go into another cough, but then he felt the air in his lungs suddenly go chilled. The hairs on his arms stood, the marrow of his bones hollowed and his aches forgotten. He and the doctor simultaneously turned their heads to the doorway, where an illuminating figure of an alien stood silently.

Spock’s eyes widened and he involuntarily sat up in alarm. 

This must be them, the beings Jim had spoken of. The ones taking place on their ship. The ones who he had not seen, but who had seen him. He barely noticed the loud thumping of his heart.

McCoy stood swiftly from his chair, stepping up to the foot of Spock’s bed. He had witnessed their charity in the forest, and he himself was not immune to their awe-stopping aura — but he did not share his captain’s irrevocable trust. He was so near to Spock’s indispositions, at his deteriorating side second after second, on the floor of the room they stood in with his suffocating body, because of a member of the species standing six feet away. 

Hahv recognized the protectiveness in the doctor’s body language, and it took no further steps into the room. It seemed to merely observe them, taking long to glance at the Vulcan, and McCoy’s shoulders tensed at the contact.

Spock’s eyes were locked with the enigmatic figure. He could not blink as it shared the stare, it’s scientifically fascinating eyes seeping into his own brown ones. The curious part of Spock lifted with wonderment, but he could not stop the apprehension that followed. He had not met these bright ones. Only the opposite. 

“I am glad you are well, Vulcan.”

A sudden chill coursed down Spock’s spine at the sound of it’s voice. He swallowed and his body held like marble.

“Thank you for saving him,” McCoy answered cautiously. He did not relax from his position. It barely moved it’s head, to study the doctor, and gave a single soft nod. McCoy inhaled slowly through his nose.

“So just how are you supposed to hide him?” he asked of it, bluntly and without restraint. It was a question that had been riding his mind and he would be damned if he wasn’t assured.

“I simply can.”

“You’re sure about that?”

Spock flicked his eyes away from the alien and to the doctor, again reminded of his vapid questions. Yet, without a full recognition of it, he also wished to be reassured of the answer. He was also somewhat aware that McCoy was curiously persistent regarding his own personal safety…something to be categorized for later analysis.

“I am. The ones which we pursue, they are far less powerful than I. There is hardly a chance for them to cause any further harm.”

“You’re saying there is a chance?”

“You can put one of your lambs in the same cage as a lion, but you cannot scientifically state that there is a 100% chance that the lion will win.”

“So does that make us the cage? The space in which the lamb and the lion will fight?” He didn’t realize how angry he was until he was faced the with physical representation of their circumstances. Perhaps it was his total lack of sleep or his impedance in his control, but his patience and tact had evaporated. Yes, Jim was right - this was something that needed done. But he did _not_ like it. Blind courage took the place of impatience, with the words thrown directed to such a powerfully capable being. He surmised he’d look back on this exchange in bewilderment of his audacity. 

“You are the doctor. You are still as angry as you were on Nvandia.” It sounded almost sorrowful. “I am in deep regret of this situation you’ve become a part of, but this is why I ask your help to deter future turmoil.”

Hahv looked back to Spock, who felt a fresh wave of ice run through his body. It was an incredibly alarming effect, as Spock was rarely taken by such surprise. Something was so foreign and awing about this one, and he could not stop the icy shock that accompanied his inquisitive interest. 

“I understand how unnatural those crystals are to a body like yours.” It said to him. “I cannot fathom the damage it was exercising…or the effects I know it continues to hold over you.”

Spock went slightly rigid. _It knows…_

“I will allow nothing else to happen to you or your friends.”

Finally, Spock found his voice. 

“I am aware.”


	26. The Symptoms of Living

He sat still, observant, slightly perturbed.

Perhaps his doctor or nurse has noticed his unusual ticks, though he attempted to keep it from their eyes. If they had taken notice, they said nothing. Perhaps they convinced themselves it was because of his recent, tumultuous, how Doctor McCoy would describe as ‘traumatizing’ experiences. This was also the lie he told himself, too, before realizing this could not be the case.

His improving health may avert their gaze away from that which he himself was noticing, but it could not change that which was noticed. It was nothing that gave him fear, nothing that could dare equalize to his past realization of being lethally poisoned…however, it was still a somewhat unsettling observation. 

It was a thing he felt when he first woke on the Enterprise, registering he was back and alive. That moment when Doctor McCoy touched his skin, prying him to come to consciousness. Unknowing to the doctor, a shock of formidable telepathic voltage accompanied the touch, sending rocking jolts straight through the recipient’s skin and up to his previously catatonic mind.

It wasn’t painful, but it was, in fact, far from comfortable. It was this unexpected shock that had Spock open his eyes, rather than the simple, gentle touch that McCoy assumed had accomplished such a task. Outwardly, his body completely exhausted and unaware, Spock had come to like anyone might have expected of him.

Inwardly, however, his mind was shoved awake from McCoy’s push. A rush of emotions poured from the doctor straight into Spock, a ram of exhaust, concern, anger, and relief — a thrust so quick and forceful that Spock initially thought he was having some kind of khajinaah, the Vulcan mind equivalent of a heart attack.

His touch telepathy was severely imbalanced.

Why _?_ He felt himself wonder. Surely it wasn’t a symptom of the past offense to his body. Spock had found himself in precarious situations before which resulted in lengthy visits to medical, and never before had his mind ever been affected. Particularly not the touch telepathy that was so natural to his kind.

It did not become completely clear to him until he failed to fall into the Vulcan tow-lath, a very specific and instinctualized thing that allowed severely injured Vulcans to self-heal at an accelerated rate.

He had done it before, and now, he could not.

_“It put it’s hand over your heart, which by that time, mind you, was completely submersed in blackened skin. And there was a strange, low light.” His captain had said. “It seemed to use the crystals to absorb whatever venom was in your blood. You’re only alive right now because they, for some reason, seem to care for life. And of course, because of our good doctor’s tireless efforts.”_

Well, whatever had been done to save him had also quelled sectors of his Vulcan aptitudes. 

Entirely fair, of course, but seeming rather inconvenient. The vanquish of the healing trance was not so hindering, as long as Spock could find himself out of terrible trouble. It was the rapping of physical touch that was proving to be more of a constant obstacle, primarily when that astoundingly persistent doctor felt the compulsive need to check him over at every available moment. 

Prior to this ordeal, Doctor McCoy and Spock had unspoken, but quite known, boundaries between each other. McCoy knew, intimately so, not to ever touch Spock unless he was medically required to do so. Spock knew, also quite intimately, to never pursue conversation wit the man as it was guaranteed to result in a fickle argument which Jim would need to end. It was a rule Spock was found to be rather good at, as he didn’t care for conversation anyway.

Seemingly, after what the two of them had been forced into together, these boundaries were forgotten and kicked into the dust. 

Spock was so entranced in his thoughts over the matter, he did not realize McCoy had tinkered into the room.

McCoy justifiably wished to test his green blood for medical purposes. He stepped lightly inside, taking note of Spock’s thoughtful expression, and went about his routine. He had a sample from when Spock was infected, and now he wanted to study it clean. It seemed, well, rather logical. 

He was lost in his own mind as he cleaned the needle, his actions on auto-pilot, and he didn’t bother to warn the Vulcan of his approach. He simply assumed the normally perceptive Vulcan would be aware of his very transparent actions.

He reached out his hand to steady the Vulcan’s elbow, but then Spock quickly twitched it away in surprise, his eyes unsuspecting from the doctor’s sudden reach. McCoy gave an involuntary step backwards, taken aback from the reaction and he quickly lowered the needle. He had previously noted the unusual jitteriness of his patient, but it was now becoming disconcerting to his medical mind. If anything, a lecture or a Vulcan glare was to be expected — the wide eyes and very human pulling of his arm to his body, however, was not. Spock recovered before the doctor did, his body immediately relaxing and taking a Vulcanized form as he realized the other man’s presence.

“Jesus, Spock, a little jumpy?”

“Doctor McCoy, don’t you believe in audible communication?”

“I just want a blood sample. _For science.”_

“Must you have it at this precise moment? When we’re halfway to a planet which may or may not attempt to attack this ship?”

“Well what the hell am I supposed to do while we meander on over there? Sit on my ass and sharpen a few knives, hoping I can stick one of ‘em with it?”

“Impossible, Doctor, as they would likely incinerate you before you even took a step in their direction. Perhaps even sooner, if you were to offer your maddening opinions to them.”

“You know what, you little ungrateful green martian—“

“Wow, I don’t know if I should be relieved or not walking in on this.” Kirk’s voice echoed off the main sickbay area, being heard before seen. He stepped into the room with a barely restrained smile, and the two offenders went silent.

“What’s going on here?” he asked amusedly as he took the few casual steps to Spock’s bed.

“He’s making me grouchy, dammit.”

“Aren’t you always grouchy?”

He asked this as he reached out to lean on Spock’s bedrail, who consciously moved his body away from the captain. Unlike McCoy, there were no impervious boundaries between Captain and First Officer. There was an unmatched understanding between the two of them, a partnership which did not require such regulations. Because of this, Kirk simply knew, as if it were his own second nature, when and when not to touch him. 

The subtle brash away did not go unseen, though Kirk did not show his notice. It was hardly a big deal, though it had the small and strange effect of nabbing at his feelings.

“Don’t take sides, Jim. He’s pissing me off.”

“Well, what can you do.” He shrugged his shoulders and gave Spock a look, expecting them to share the expression they regularly did in the heat of McCoy’s rants. The Vulcan, however, was staring at the wall with his brow furrowed in concealed annoyance. 

“Easy for you to be so off-putting to his infuriating green passive aggressive comments when you’re not the one watching over his dumb green ass 24/7.”

Spock’s eyes migrated to the ceiling in impatience at the constant use of the Vulcan blood of his veins; it seemed when McCoy was especially riled up, his insults dwindled to a very narrow vocabulary.

“I thought he was on the mend.”

“He is! He is on the damn mend! Look at him! He doesn’t look like a fucking walking corpse anymore and his stupid mind is essentially completely back to it’s complexity, as he can’t seem to shut the fuck up! And all God all mighty —!”

Kirk rolled his eyes for both he and Spock as the doctor’s voice became louder and his arms flailed with emphasis. He glanced up to Spock’s monitor — at least the doc was right. He was looking far better.

“So why don’t you go sleep, Bones? He’s fine, like you said.”

McCoy practically spluttered.

“I can’t go sleep! Are you kidding me?! Why don’t you go sleep?!”

Kirk laughed in return, as if the comment personally offended the laws of sense.

“Well I definitely can’t go sleep!”

“Great! So let’s just keep going, huh? I’m on a damn roll!”

Kirk rolled his eyes once more, and decided perhaps he had better return to the bridge. He only wished to check on his two friends anyway, and having done so, he was required elsewhere. He reached out and placed a hand on Spock’s shoulder, as he often did, and the Vulcan almost seemed to wince at the touch. It was such a subtle movement, Kirk thought perhaps he didn’t see it at all. If it was there, it was entirely fathomably anyway, right? Spock was likely aching from his recovery. He made an internal note to refrain from prodding him for at least a week, and exited the room after another lighthearted comment to the doctor.

Spock knew he couldn’t continue to avoid every attempt at physical contact, primarily when it came to Captain Kirk, and he had forced himself to sit still while his friend rested his hand on his shoulder. Most of his palm had landed on Spock’s sickbay shirt, but the tip of his finger brushed across the back of Spock’s neck. If it weren’t for his hyperaware and sensitive telepathy, he wouldn’t have noticed it otherwise.

But he did notice it.

A stab of a blade saturated with the captain’s emotions sliced into Spock’s neck and shivered to his brain, which went white with the flood of human fervors. It was total exhaustion, subdued worry, a light amusement, and curious fondness which encompassed the strikes that attacked Spock. It lasted only for half a second, hardly a blink, but the blunt and strong crash of emotion was suffocating to a species which endeavored to devoid themselves of such things.

The captain’s retreating steps tapped against the tiles.

Kirk left the sickbay rather happily and climbed up to the bridge, where he was to meet with Hahv. The alien seemed to think the meeting was redundant, as the action they planned wasn’t to last more than a few minutes. Captain Kirk insisted anyway, to which Hahv readily agreed. It had no desire to defy Kirk of what he wished. It seemed as though this new friend was more of a compatible partner than some of Starfleet’s own admirals.

“You must convince them that you are desperate,” Hahv implored. “Convince them of your perils.”

“It will not be difficult for me to act as though we have seen hell, Hahv.”

At every use of the new name, Hahv’s illuminessence seemed to lighten in fondness. It stretched it’s unmarked hand towards the captain, the dazzling crystals rotating above it.

“They will sense these crystals,” it said. “Take them. Have their scent in your pocket. They will be desperate at their presence, and will sense them as easily as you can air — but we will be within the walls. It will not go for long.”

Hahv turned his hand over and dropped the rocks into Kirk’s human hand. They clinked together as they settled in a shimmering pile.

“You know this,” it continued seriously, “but whatever impossible may happen, do not give these crystals to those beings.”

“I will die first.”

Kirk meant it. He would throw himself down into the pits of hades time and time again, if it defined the absence of these rocks to the clutches of something so malign and wretched. Hahv gently placed it’s hand under Kirk’s for a brief moment of blithe endearment, and Kirk’s body was filled with existence at the chilling touch.

“That is not an option, Jim Kirk. I will not allow a single soul of your crew to be lost.”

“I’m afraid for my crew. Those on the bridge.”

“You have seen what these dark ones can do with their extended depletion from the Nvandian’s. You have no idea what I can do with my constant fill of it.”

Kirk felt a chill that was not attributed to Hahv’s touch. 

“How many are there?”

“A number you would fear.”

Sulu quietly informed them that they were almost upon outer-orbiting range. Kirk’s heart accelerated at their minimizing time, and moreso at Hahv’s nod as it began to fade away from view. It barely whispered that those that needed concealed were, and it slipped from his vision. 

Kirk inhaled deeply as he watched the stoney planet near closer to them. No matter the outcome, nor the events that were soon to follow…Kirk was rather grateful to have discovered Hahv. A being unlike anything the starship captain had ever encountered, a soul who literally and figuratively emitted a light that nothing else seemed capable. It’s words and it’s presence reassured Kirk of the good in the galaxy.

Now, he prayed deeply, the good in the galaxy would easily and swiftly take down the evil in it.


	27. Instinct Over Mind Over Matter

The anticipation on the bridge hummed in the silent air. A bead of sweat slowly dripped from Sulu’s forehead and plopped unnoticed onto the control board. 

The hideous planet, which churned stomachs into nauseous shreds, was only 1500 Earth miles before them. It loomed chillingly in the view screen, a symbol of attack, of violence, waiting, hiding in plain sight for it’s moment to strike.

“Don’t hold back your fear,” breathed Kirk to his crew as he eyed the planet. “Remember, this species can sense our emotions. This one time, I’ll need you to let your purest fear take over the defiance. Keep your heads on straight, but we must act as if things have occurred the way they think they have. Let the trepidation be palpable. No reason for suspicion. Got it?”

They all nodded mutely. Kirk’s heart rammed up his throat, his adrenaline seeping through his bandages in a reddish fashion. He ran his fingers over the sparkling pebbles in his pocket. He reminded himself that anything that he learned about this species, because of Hahv, must be forgotten. Hahv does not exist. Hahv is not waiting in the walls. The science chair behind him is loud in it’s emptiness.

He inhaled deeply. This was their last battle in this ongoing, never ceasing war. One more obstacle, and they can leave this ungodly place. They will continue as they were, their lives whole and their minds awake.

They will, finally, rest.

Inhale. Exhale. Focus.

The last time Captain Kirk had been with the Cruel one, the one which had come so disturbingly close to killing his greatest friend, it had appeared on his bridge unnoticed. The captain’s back had been turned as it found it’s holographic self onto the ship.

This time, however, Kirk’s eyes were directly on it’s slowly compositing form. An unexpected seed of anger rooted in Kirk’s chest, thin branches of fear breaching past a wispy shell. He snuffed down the fury, reminded it must be replaced by something fresher. Grief. Fear. He shoved down the prodding thought of it targeting Sulu, Uhura, Chekov or Scotty…but reserved the fear that went alongside it. 

It’s appearance pulled together, it’s body tall, overpowering and dark. It’s shoulders were hunched in treacherous determination. There was a darkness that lied in it’s bottomless eyes, and like a candle in a swift gust, Kirk felt the air leave his body.

“You have them.” 

It’s voice was an abyss of fire and hate. It was not a question, but an observation, a sense. It’s body leaned forward, barely, and it’s chin tilted back in a deep inhale. Kirk felt a small tug in his pocket. The crystals were reacting to it’s call. It bore it’s eyes down upon him, filling the room with greed and an intense, driving hunger. 

Kirk could not recall feeling so devoid of warmth during their first encounter. It was as if there was a heavy, smothering blanket of repose wrapping around his body, his face, pushing down on the life that flowed under his flesh. Kirk did what he could to ignore the suffocation, and chose his words carefully.

“Yes.”

“I felt you leave your course, James Kirk. You disheeded my warning.”

“Yes.”

“And your Vulcan shipmate?”

Kirk swallowed hard, his eyes unwavering. The clench of his heart had nothing to do with the darkness pulsing off the alien. There was the rise of a small lump in his throat, the words he knew he needed to say stuck. He couldn’t help but think of the truth that almost accompanied his next statement. He finally managed, with a loud and shaking voice,

“He’s dead.”

The captain’s words were filled with such emotion, the young ensign navigator had to remind himself it was a lie.

“I warned you not to attempt escape, Kirk. I warned you what I was capable of…that I would know. That I would kill him if you tried.” It’s lies settled thickly in the room. “I warned you of my power. It is because of you that he is dead for it.”

Kirk clenched his fist loosely.

“Yes,” he answered in a strained whisper, allowing a small and genuine break to his voice. There was not an once of remorse visible on it’s jagged face, but rather a subtle smugness. Destruction radiated off it’s body like a heat lamp. It was nauseating, and Kirk’s breath felt hot. It’s impact was so strong…

It suddenly cocked it’s head, it’s eyes drifting deeper into Kirk’s. Kirk felt a pull at his mind, his emotions being brought forward for observation, for it’s need to feed on his misery. 

It was reading him. Without hesitation, Kirk thought of Spock’s body in his arms, the weight of it, lifeless, the light that had left his brown eyes as the strength to speak vanished, the way his head had hung dead over his arm, how he was _dead, dead, dead—_

“How can you find yourself to be so upset, James?” It asked at the strength of what it observed from him. “Was he truly so significant to you?” It’s words were lined in entitlement, condescending at something as unimportant as a life affecting him so.  

There was a small flame of anger flaring in the depths of Kirk’s gut. When was Hahv supposed to become apparent? _He’s dead, you felt him die, you’re engulfed in misery, dead, dead, dead—_

It stretched it’s rancor scaled hand out towards him.

“Give them to me.”

Kirk held still, feeling the weak rustle of his pocket. His racing heart fought against the statue of his feet. Hahv should take control any moment. 

“He was _nothing_ , James Kirk,” it growled with impatience, mistaking Kirk’s hesitation for Hahv as regret for Spock. “He was _nothing_ compared to what you’ve got quivering in your pockets. He was an imbalanced officer, two halves of different wholes warring with each other. I have done you a favor,” it spat the word, “by stilling his impure veins. Repay me in what is rolling between your fingertips.”

Kirk exhaled deeply, his growing flame sparking with every word. Anger bubbled in his ears, his hands shook at his side. His fear was gone.

It took a single step forward, it’s body swaying in power, and the humans in the room responded by leaning back in their chairs. Kirk did not falter, and his gaze had turned to a glare. His grief was strung high, but his anger was rising higher.

Hahv was not coming. Something was amiss.

It took another step forward, it’s head tilting in sick malice, as it’s eyes burned holes into Kirk. The captain could see the calculation in it’s eyes, studying the change within the human. Suddenly, horrifyingly, it lunged towards him in a vicious hunt, it’s movements swift and strong. Kirk staggered as it came upon him, his arms reaching backwards to catch on the chair, and it dropped down at him like a lethal monster.

It suddenly halted just as swiftly as it had moved, hovering over the braced Kirk, frozen in it’s poise to attack. They were locked like that for several terrible seconds, the death leaking out of it’s every scale and burning into Kirk’s bent body. For a brief moment, Kirk thought perhaps Hahv had finally taken control. He soon found himself to be wrong.

It’s black eyes slowly tore away from Kirk, drifting agonizingly slow to look at the wall in front of it, at the back of the bridge. Tension dripped in the silence as it towered over the captain. It’s eyes were off him, but Kirk’s eyes were locked on it, his face pale with what he had thought was his immediate end. The intense gaze on the wall migrated back to stare into Kirk, and his blood went cold. Ice cold. 

It dawned on the captain that this was no hologram. 

“You lied to me,” it said quietly, unsteadily, it’s words thick in threat. Depths of hell reeked from it’s eyes, it’s scaly expression, as it realized something unsaid. The remaining color from Kirk’s face drained as they each, unblinkingly, came to grasp this.

It knew.

It immediately reached for Kirk’s pocket, it’s moonless fingers curling menacingly towards the crystals, but Kirk leapt backwards over the chair and held it as a partition between he and it. Having this baneful creature hunching opposite him, insatiable hunger crackling in it’s eyes, it’s movements desperate and demanding, leaking venin from it’s pores… Kirk found only one thing crossing his mind:

Do not let it have them. 

Kirk instinctively palmed the outside of his pocket, expecting to feel the rocky pressure from the crystals nesting within, but his knuckled turned white at the touch. He felt nothing but the fabric of his pants.

A wave of terror spiked down his body. He looked down at his pocket and shoved his hand down, sure there must be a mistake, but his searching fingers answered in affirmation. He jerked his head back up to the offense, afraid he would see it twirling the rocks between it’s long and black fingers, but the furious expression it held told Kirk that something else must have happened. Someone else took the Nvandian’s from his possession.

Hahv. It was not gone, it had not abandoned them, but whatever was delaying it has at least granted it the power to take the crystals back. Should Jim die, should they all…at least it was Hahv who had the crystals.

“No…” whispered the alien in front of him, it’s voice saturated with quiet disbelief. It leaned away from the chair, and stalked around as it’s feet poisoned the tiles and passed Kirk’s bewildered face. Without thinking, the fear in where it was heading taking over, Kirk put himself between it and the back of the bridge. It lifted it’s hand in the air and swiped sharply to the left, and Kirk was thrown across the room. His body collided painfully with the engineering console and the air knocked out from him, leaving him gasping on the floor. Several officers stood from their chairs and shouted out to him, but Kirk forced his eyes open to watch the alien stand directly in front of the back wall. It shifted it’s shoulders, adjusting, as it studied whatever it saw past the walls.

Kirk’s brain pounded against his head, hardly registering the warm liquid running down his temple. Sulu and Scotty lifted him to unstable feet, but Kirk could only think of how that alien had made a point not to kill him, how it could have killed him, how it should have killed him, how it wants to wait to kill him, how it’s going to kill _him_ first. Kirk can see it in it’s stance, it’s rolling shoulders — it’s mapping the ship, locating the thing, the person, the target, the lie, that it’s hunting for. 

Before he knows what he’s saying, before he strategies what he _should_ say, what he should _do_ , Kirk reaches out towards it and cries, “WAIT!” before it turns back to look at him, a gleam in it’s lightless eyes, and it ebbs away into the air.

Kirk is paralyzed for half a second before he sprint’s away from his friends’ grip to his chair, pounding his fist against the communication panel.

“SICKBAY! BONES, COME IN!”

No one answered. Kirk bounded for the turbo lift, ignoring the knowledge that there is, in fact, nothing he can do. Nothing. Panic rises in his throat as he slams against the wall of the lift, flipping the communicator away from his hip.

“McCoy, answer me now! _Bones!”_

In sickbay, the chief medical officer can hear his communicator chipping aggressively at his belt, but the adrenaline coursing through him mutes it’s contents. Spock is sitting stiffly against the headboard, his knees half raised and arms braced against the bed in alarm. He silenced the sharpness of his emotions and quelled them with calmness, but it could not stop the stress he felt at the sight of it.

Despite his control, he couldn’t stop the vivid flashbacks of the slicing pain he had felt at it’s hands, it which had caused him to be so dead while barely alive. The sudden memories stop, though, as they are replaced by sudden dread. Dread at the sight of the back of McCoy’s head, rising to stand between he and this nefarious being of shadow. Chapel lingered, her arms shaking, to the left of them. Looking at this dark creature, one which she could have never imagined, she forgets what joy feels like.

“Tell me how he is alive, or I will kill you in three seconds,” it growled dangerously. There is only one way Spock could live. Only one. Spock knows this as well as it does.

“Fuck you,” hissed McCoy.

“ _Tell me.”_

In something that seemed like a dream, or more a memory, it raised it’s arm out towards Spock and brief fear overcame him. He stiffened as he was overcome with pressure, with pain, and his veins strained in his rigidness. His head arched against the headboard, his mouth open in a breathless gasp as his blood curdled. 

This pain was different. It felt different. Where before it was as if his bones were dipped in agony, attacked by skewers of sharpness, it was now in his veins. He became acutely aware of the thin green blood pulsing within him, filling the entirety of his body with their torture, pulsing with his rapid heartbeat. He saw whiteness. Paralyzed. 

With hardly a second of a glance, seeing Spock’s skin turn grey and translucent, the veins in his skin purple beneath his flesh, McCoy reached behind him and grasped the biobed monitor pole and swung it out towards the alien’s head. It cracked over it’s head, clattering into several pieces and falling to the ground. The alien staggered and it’s hand faltered, and Spock’s body released. The purple hue of his veins faded away. He gasped for air and struggled over to Chapel’s reaching arms.

She tugged him out from the bed and her spiking emotions blinded him. He staggered down to the floor. She re-adjusted her grip to better support him, blissfully touching only his shirt, and tugged him back to his feet with a strength she did not recognize. She brought her and Spock back against the wall as she watched McCoy throw every endeavorable object within reach, hurling it at the abominable and keeping it’s disorientation.

It quickly shook the surprise and, clearly otherwise unaffected, stopped the incoming surgical knife in midair and reversed it’s trajectory. It flung back towards McCoy and knicked the side of his neck before slamming into the wall behind him.

Hellbent on it’s target, something which before was so trivial and unimportant, it took an unstable step forward. It was now infuriated at it’s initial failure of succession, humiliated at the foolery tried upon it, rage shining in it’s black eyes — it shot a hand through the air and sliced it down, catching an unseen beam on Chapel to launch her away from the Vulcan.  She cried out as she was catapulted into the back desk, sending vials, papers, and glass shattering to the floor. Unsupported, Spock collapsed back to the floor with several curses to his weakened muscles. He glanced at her, buried in debris, and fruitlessly wished her to have been safe in her quarters. 

Immediately, his control is vanquished. Outrage twined in his blood at the risk it was posing to not just himself, but now his colleagues as well. His fury-rigged eyes set on the alien, and when it looked to meet his eyeline, a static shock crackled in the room. Victim and offender, casualty and criminal, prey and predator. Spock can see the intent of death in it’s murderous gaze.

“Notice anything strange about your patient, doctor?” it deplored towards McCoy. The doctor, holding a red stained hand to his neck, pulled himself up from the floor.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he clamored back angrily.

“Clearly, he is alive when he shouldn’t be. Somehow, that venom was extracted from him,” it did not bother to hide the already known truth, “but his blood is far from clean.”

McCoy took a slow step back towards the bed’s drawers, his mind on survival. He disguised it as a retreat, to be as inconspicuous as possible. It’s words peaked little interest in him. 

Not when he knew there was a phaser sitting atop the drawer. 

“It is clean,” he plays back.

“ _It’s not._ Didn’t you see what I just did to him?” it hissed through it’s charcoal teeth, raising it’s hand again as if to demonstrate.

McCoy fingers the wood behind his back until he finds a hold on the phaser. With the alien’s gaze on the older man, Spock braces his palm on the wall beside him and rises shakily to his feet. He wants to signal McCoy to stop, to tell him _no, you will get yourself killed this will not work, McCoy, you illogical human being what are you thinking?_ But he knows any noise, any signal he makes, will give the doctor away and seal his doom even faster.

McCoy, knowing his options are dwindled to nothing, swings the phaser around, his finger on the trigger, and shoots a violent beam towards the alien.

But it knew. It had known the moment McCoy had taken those few steps backwards. It had waited until the human thought he had the upper hand when he never did.

Spock’s shouts were drowned by the sound of the beam reverberating against the black alien palm, a deafening boom thundering through the air as eradication found McCoy squarely in the chest and he dropped like a dead weight to the floor. His heroic endeavors evaporated into nothing as if they never existed.

Leaning against the wall, frozen in shock, Spock stared at McCoy’s fallen body. He staunched his rising emotions, shoving them down, needing control and logic now more than before. He looked back to the alien with cold eyes.

“How are you alive?” it whispered with venom, separating the words slowly. Spock’s chest heaved in surfacing fury, a fury he had never before felt. A fury he didn’t know possible. There was no movement from the body on the other side of the biobed.

“I believe you already know the answer to your question.”

It suddenly strode towards him like a predator, it’s head low, menace fuming out from it’s body like a spigot. It shot it’s hand up, and where Spock expected a fresh wave of pain, it instead continued hunting towards him until it physically grasped his throat and threw him against the wall. 

It’s flesh felt like lava.

His neck was scorching with it’s poisonous touch, burning into him and incinerating his mind.  He reached up and futilely attempted to pry it away, clawing at the fire that was snuffing out his oxygen as his head was forced upwards with colors dancing his vision. It only resulted in the further burning of his palms. Spots of light splotched over the still bodies of the doctor and nurse who so diligently tried to keep him alive.

In the corner of his failing vision, a bright whiteness filled the doorway and the intense pain pulsing down his body subsided significantly. He heard strange, desperate noises, and he thought it must be lungs retching for air. There was a loud buzzing in his ears. A smothering enmity shed from the black alien’s body pushing against him, enveloping the Vulcan, and his insides felt hot. It was suffocating.

“ _Let him go, Y—.”_

 _“What are you doing on this ship, S-?”_ it sneered back, it’s voice echoing off the walls of S.’s mind.

“ ** _Let him go.”_**

**_“No.”_ **   
****

Hahv whipped his hand through the air with impeccable agility, immediately throwing Y. off the greying Vulcan, it’s black body knocking off the wall and crashing to the ground. A mirror of what it itself had done to the humans.  
 ****

“ _You were given a chance, Y. Another life. A life which you did not deserve, not even then. You could have remade yourself, remade the mindless followers who you lead to this depth of ruthless, unbecoming corruption.”_

Hahv lifted Y. through the air, it’s feet circling around to stand in front of Spock as Y. rotated in the air above them. Successfully walled in front of the gasping Vulcan, Hahv swiftly brought it’s hand down and sent Y. crashing to the floor, causing the entire room, the entire deck, to quake with the impact.

_“How can you have strayed so far from our way? To kill so needlessly, so effortlessly, as if you enjoy it?”_

_“Because I_ ** _do enjoy it,”_** Y. croaked from the floor, a passion in it’s words.

…

Kirk saw medical only a few feet in front of him. He couldn’t hear anything, no commotion or screams, and he was unsure if the silence was even more worrisome than sound. He was suddenly knocked to his knees by a violent jolt of the deck, and his heart lurched into his throat. He barreled back up to his feet and rammed his shoulder into the door, stuck from the quake, and forced it open. The lights in the main area flickered violently, edging Kirk’s anxiety closer to panic as his eyes locked onto Spock’s open room. He sprinted over in hardly more than four steps, but halted completely in his tracks once he breached the room.

Spock was sputtering on the floor, down between his biobed and the wall, with Hahv standing between he and the one who meant to kill them all. Chapel was tossed aside in the corner, half conscious, the desk overturned beside her, limply pushing a book away from her prone body. McCoy was laying in front of Kirk, his eyes closed, blood pouring down from his neck. It was with mute horror that Kirk realized he was not moving.

_…_

“ _I was wrong to banish you here,”_ Hahv’s strong, commanding voice dwarfed over Y.’s losing one. His eyes stayed on the downed brethren, but he felt the captain enter the chaos. It was relieved to know he’d survived the prolonged encounter with Y. “ _You’re finished with chances.”_

_“S—, listen to me; look at what we can do. Look at what_ **_you_ ** _can do. How can you host yourself on a ship like this, a ship of the blooded, of the mortal? We—“_

_“Do not mistake yourself for immortal, Y—.”_

_“I have a colony down there, S—…you can kill me all you want, but you can’t handle every body down there. I—“_

“ _L— and Z— have come with me. Your people are already gone.”_

Haha’s statement lingered in the connection between them, hanging in their minds. Y. finally fell silent. It could hear the truth in S.’s words, and the gravity of it’s demise fell upon the link.

“ _I would have captured you sooner,”_ continued Hahv, “ _but your people proved more powerful than I had anticipated._ ** _You_** _are more powerful than I anticipated. A power not possible without Nvandia.”_ Y. struggled to regain it’s standing, but Hahv used it’s power to push down against it. Y growled and squirmed. “ _When I banished you, there were 100. Now, there were 30. What happened to the rest?”_

 _“I killed them,”_ sneered Y. openly, proudly. “ _After the humans left, I knew I would need more power. Should they discover the lies I told them, I could not take down an entire starship on the juices I had left. Damage, yes. Kill a number, yes. Not all of them. So I harvested any remaining energy from my people and devoured it, until I had just enough to forcefully take the Nvandian’s from that captain’s clutches, dead, if I must.”_

“ _Our entire species is built upon life, Y-. Life. Living. Existence. To end another species’ life is a part of that philosophy. But your own people? The people who gave up their lives to follow you to this failure? How can you have that within you?”_

_“How can you not? You’re the weak one, S—, not me. Don’t you stand there, above me, as if you yourself are in the purity. As if you’re better than me.”_

_“I am not pure, Y—. I have made mistakes. My largest, of which, is allowing you to live, banished, on this planet despite knowing what you had done to Nvandia. I will live with that regret forever. L—, Z—, and I have amended this mistake on the planet below us. I will rectify it here now.”_

_“You won’t kill me. Them, the ones down there, sure…it must have been easy to kill them. They don’t know you like I do. They haven’t known you your entire existence. They—“_

Hahv clenched it’s jaw and clenched it’s fist in a kind of pained choreography, and the being called Y. in front of it crumbled to a pile of black ash that disintegrated into nothingness.

…

Kirk was at McCoy’s side, his fingers wrapped around the doctor’s wrist, as he watched the dance before him silently unfold. It was clear Hahv had the advantage, but then suddenly, surprisingly, the dark beast on the floor fell away until the space it occupied was completely empty. 

It was gone.

“Hahv…” Kirk broke the silence that had held the room for several minutes. Spock had been on his hands and knees, a pained hand to his blackened throat, as he looked up and watched this bright creature stand there to wordlessly defend him. It now turned around to face the downed Vulcan, lowering itself to meet eye level with him. It said nothing, but Spock could read the ringing, absolute apology in it’s eyes.

It reached out towards Spock, who found himself to be surprised at the lack of a flinch, and it gently touched an illuminated finger to his throat. Immediately, the charred skin from the other one’s grasp receded back to the green-tinged tone it was before, the pain gone with it. It rotated it’s hand down and did the same with Spock’s palms. Airily, it gently lifted Spock by his elbows up to his feet. At the contact, Spock felt as though all his ailments were dusted away. The moment he was upright, standing by himself, Spock looked directly to Kirk and McCoy on the floor.

“Doctor McCoy?” Only he could hear the shake in his voice, but the dismay in his words was heard by all. He planted his gaze at the disturbingly still man. Kirk’s face softened into half a smile, a small amount of blood from his temple wound gathering in the corner of his mouth.

“He’s alive, Spock.”

Spock could not stop himself from his arguably human reaction, and sighed in audible relief and took half a step backwards. He had been certain the phaser, guaranteed to kill any man, any Federation species, had ended the doctor. The alleviation took to his shaky legs, and he’d barely swayed an inch back before Hahv put a hand behind him and gave him stability. The touch send a strange flourish of life through Spock. It’s effect of contact was in high contrast to it’s fallen. Hahv led him to kneel beside Kirk and glided over to Chapel, lifting her (amidst her wondrous expression at it’s proximity) to her feet.

“How is he alive?” asked Spock. “It was a phaser, Jim…”

Kirk looked down at the doctor and twisted his torso, searching for the weapon. He swiftly discovered it near the man’s feet and brought it up to inspect with his eyes. There was a small puff of air through his nose, a disdainful laugh at the audacity of the universe. He lowered it and looked to Spock with a shake of his head.

“It was set to stun.”

Spock took this information and allowed himself a moment to close his eyes. Had it been on kill…

He opened his eyes again, eyeing the scene. The calamity of strewn debris, the nurse who dusted off her blood spotted uniform, the lights flickering in angry objection, the stream of red running down Jim’s face, the alive but stilled body of a man who was willing to die for him…

This could never be what he predicted to find when he signed himself to Starfleet. This was never what coursed his mind at his mother’s proud tears as she fondly waved him goodbye, this was never what he convinced himself to be more promising than the never ending, disappointing gleam in Sarek’s eyes, this was never what he had found so appealing to be when he studied the twinkling, curious stars on the red planet of Vulcan…

But the one outlier in the room, the being who alone was clear of blood and filth, who’s entire existence proved a mystery to science and everything Spock had researched, who’s very natural essence leaked light and life, who could sense the Vulcan’s quite real emotions in the present moment and again touched it’s hand to his shoulder in a sort of recognition…

Well, it, perhaps, was.


	28. Illuminate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, again, want to thank you kind readers for stringing along with me in this fic. Let me know how you've enjoyed it, as I've enjoyed writing it. So, so much. It's gotten me in the wonderful habit of just writing in my free time, rather than being a lazy unproductive person like I used to be. This is the last chapter of Trepidation in the Nameless...LLAP, my sweet Trekkie nerds.

“Now waitta damn minute! I have some serious questions for you!” chastised McCoy, his arms crossed with his rump atop a biobed. He winced and swatted at Chapel’s hand. 

“Leonard, sit still. I need to seal this up,” she scolded with a returning swat. He ignored her and continued staring at the glowing alien standing across from him. They’d vacated to the main area, as Spock’s room was a disarray of debris and calamity. He shot a huffy finger over to Spock, who was sitting on the biobed beside him, and continued.

“What the hell did that thing do to him? Before you decided it was a convenient time to show up and actually do something recreationally constructive, that cretin did something different, something unlike what it did before, and then had the audacity to tell me his blood isn’t clean!”

Haha’s shoulders loosened in what seemed like a sigh, and it too regarded Spock.

“What it said is true, in a sense. Your blood is not clean,” it said to him, “but it is not tainted either. It is simply different, now.”

McCoy raised his brow expectantly, his lips tight together, as he waited. Spock found no alarm nor surprise in the admission. It was to be expected, after all. 

“When I retracted the venom of the crystals from his body, I was replacing it with the _purity_ of them,” explained Hahv softly. “One element of the some construct against another. I could not completely revitalize his blood, as it was severely distorted from it’s natural state, but I was able to re-fabricate the missing pieces. To save him, I had no choice. Your friend has Nvandian crystals as a part of his physical make-up now, and he forever will. Unfortunately…my counterpart was able to sense it. To manipulate it in order to harm him.” Hahv gracefully walked over to Spock and placed it’s hand upon his, and the veins beneath Spock’s skin faded up from their translucency. They were a shallow violet. 

“So he lives with this danger for the rest of his life?” asked Kirk, a true inquiry rather than accusation. Hahv shook his head.

“A danger, no. The ones who resided on the planet below us specialized in contorting the Nvandian’s to deplete life, rather than my people’s way, which is the opposite. Life is the natural, organic way of the crystals. Of us. Now that they are gone, he is safe. There are no other species alive who can use it against him.”

“There must be effects,” McCoy stated with a scowl. He winced again and shot Chapel a glare, who returned the glare harshly. Hahv removed his hand and allowed Spock’s arm to return to it’s natural state.

“I believe your friend already knows of it’s effects.” It leaned hardly an inch closer to Spock, who looked up at it. A kindness took it’s eyes, and offered in a quieted voice, “It will not last to this severity forever, though it will never truly fade. You will adjust. I cannot affirm the ricochet of the future, though, for myself, your living dissolves the regret of any of it’s effects.” It’s eye contact ran a crisp chill through the Vulcan, and he nodded. He understood.

Hahv stood tall and stepped away from him, and he took a place in the middle of the room. He looked between the four of them.

“I have much to attend to, pieces of a disaster and tragedy of my people that needs addressing. I truly wish this ship to discover the enthralling depths of the galaxy. You have no idea the magnificents of the beyond. Never fear the unknown, for it’s the unknown’s that will show you who you are.”

Kirk smiled. “Thank you for saving my ship, Hahv.”

“Thank you, and your ship, for aiding me to save the galaxy, Jim Kirk.”

Chapel put the thermal degenerator down upon the desk and placed her hand on McCoy’s shoulder. The doctor had a frown upon his face, but not even he could help but marvel in the spectacle of the figure. Spock’s right hand was lifted, his fingers parted in a salute that he truly desired for the diminishing being.

Soon, the four of them found themselves once more alone. A few silent moments passed before McCoy found his tongue again.

“What in blazes was it talking about?” he asked accusingly to Spock. Spock cocked his head over to him in mild annoyance.

“My touch telepathy is marred, as well as the fact that I cannot fall into the Vulcan healing trance,” he answered stoically.

“Is that why you’ve been jumping five feet away from me every time I’m in the same room as you? What the hell, Spock? Couldn’t you have said something?”

“I would not define it as ‘jumping five feet away’, Doctor McCoy, and the reason I kept it to myself is because there were other things to focus on. Nothing within your power could balance it, regardless.” At this, the doctor angrily brought his crossed arms closer into his chest and hunched over in objection. Spock gave a small shake at the emotionalism.

“It is nothing extreme, Doctor. The worst of it is the effect that touch has upon me, so all I require of you it to keep your physical contact at a bare minimum until I can accurately gauge it’s course. And preferably after that, as well,” he added with a raised eyebrow. McCoy replied with narrowed eyes.

“You green goblin. I hate you.”

Kirk thought perhaps he saw the ghost of a smile cross Spock’s face, and in effect, it caused one to cross Kirk’s. Whatever pure relief Spock had displayed at the reveal of McCoy’s living life, it was no where to be found, just as McCoy’s was for Spock’s. Some things, he mused, would never change. 

“Shall we warp out of this sector as fast as physically possible, officers?” he teased wryly. He flipped out his communicator. “Kirk to Sulu.”

“Sulu here, Captain.”

“Get us out of here.”

“Nothing would make me happier, sir.”

“Nor I, Lieutenant.” He flipped it shut and, in his moment of feeling rather tired, rubbed his eyes. 

“Bones.”

“Hmm.”

“You remember when we were in the lift, long, long ago? You were saying something about a Gerodi…Gerodi…”

“Gerradi D’Amato, yes sir, I remember all right.”

“Well…” he dropped his hands and gave him a look. “You got any of those little blue pills he so wonderfully created? I think I could use a few.” 

McCoy chuckled and pushed himself off the bed. He breathed deeply, enjoying the rush of air into his lungs, gave Chapel a fond pat on the shoulder, and led himself over to the cabinets. He glanced at Spock’s biomonitor as he passed by. They were, to his hidden joy, the most improved they had been since the day this had all begun. He smiled in spite of himself and creaked the cabinet door open.

“All you’re gonna need is one, Jim.”

— — — — — —

Two weeks had passed.

The Enterprise charted Federation regulated stars and gathered cosmic dust as they pushed deeper into their orders. Finally, Kirk’s chair gave a buzz. McCoy notified him that his first officer, freshly cleared for full active duty, was getting prepared to join the bridge. Elated, Kirk leapt off the chair and jaunted to the turbo lift. He could, of course, wait until Spock stepped onto the bridge, as it wouldn’t be long. But, after having missed the Vulcan for such a terribly long time during work, he was impatient to see him. He expected to meet the doctor and first officer in the sickbay, perhaps discuss a few things before things returned to normal, but as he turned a corner on deck 3, this is not what happened.

Spock seemed almost surprised to see the captain, here in the middle of the corridor, after McCoy had just communicated to him that he was on his way up. He was wearing that science blue shirt, the shining pin of Starfleet sitting appropriately atop his chest. 

He was standing, tall, lean, strong. His weight was healthy, his skin even more so. Something akin to jubilance warmed the center of Kirk’s chest, and to the surprise of both of them, he suddenly launched into an impulsive wide-set grin and took several large steps forward. He reached out his arms and pulled the alarmed Vulcan into a joyous hug, careful to wrap his hands around his shirt only, and tightened his grip. His smile grew wider as he felt the Vulcan stiffen in his embrace, unsure of what to do at the action. 

It was common sense to never puncture the bubble of a Vulcan. You simply don’t do it. Yet here he was, _alive._ The captain could not dissuade himself this one vice. He needed to hold the Vulcan differently than he had in Nvandia’s forest, with his shoulders tensed awkwardly and his damned Vulcan eyebrows shooting up expressively and his even more damned heart _thumping_ with life.

“Damn it, Spock. I am so damn happy you’re alright.”

Spock’s arms were glued to his side, the contact somewhat uncomfortable for the Vulcan in him. But the human in Spock looked down to his friend, Kirk’s arms embracing and eyes clenched in happiness, with concealed affection.

Dreams were something of a rarity for Vulcans, night terrors even more so. Only a few had plagued Spock, most of them having dissipated after Hahv’s healing touch. After the alien’s departure, though he was not riddled with fear in dreams, he could not stop the subconscious act of recalling the past’s events. The deepest parts of him could never eradicate the knowledge of what pure agony could feel like, what _dying_ could feel like. What it did feel like. If he allowed his mind to wander, it would wander to the freshest parts of his darkest corners that he wished to keep sealed away. 

It was this reason that he had pushed Doctor McCoy to releasing him as early as possible, so he could keep himself busy and occupied with work. To return to the peace he so revered. 

This, and he strangely found solace in being in the presence of James Kirk. It was a much brighter contrast to being held prisoner with Doctor McCoy for the past two weeks, and Spock could already feel the peace creep back into his mind as he stood in the hallways of the Enterprise, his blue uniform crinkling under the embrace of a very human captain. Spock blinked down at him, his muscles relaxing and that one brow lifting fittingly.

“Of course I am alright, Captain.”


End file.
